The Darkest Recesses of the Heart
by kerryblaze
Summary: AU. Slash. HarryxRon. Harry disappears suddenly. Ron finds him hiding out in a small American town with a new set of friends and a new life and no memory of his old one.
1. A New Hope

**The Darkest Recesses of the Heart**

_**Chapter One - A New Hope **_

"I'm only going to ask you this once more." Ron paused and counted silently to ten. "What – is – your – name?"

"You blasted son-of-a-whore, you don' need to speak to me as if I were a bleedin' babby! I may be short, you fuckin' piece o' pig shit, but me dick's bigger than yours!"

Though Ron Weasley doubted that every single Leprechaun in the world was as awful as the one sitting across from him, he believed that the merry ones, like the ones portrayed in fairy tales, were probably rare and hiding in Albania or something.

"Listen to me," Ron said, his voice low and deep like the anger currently churning in the pit of his stomach. "This doesn't have to be hard. Drunken and disorderly will get you a night in a –"

"Fuck off, you cocksucker of cow's cock! I'm not –"

Ron continued speaking, raising his voice in order to be heard over the Leprechaun's stream of very creative and colourful swear words.

"A night in a cell here. Even exposing yourself will only get you – don't talk about my mum, arsehole – a fine, but if you don't tell me your name –"

"Fuck face! Pussy slime that's what you are! Day old, fish smelling –"

"All right that's enough!" With one hand, Ron grabbed the Leprechaun around the back of the neck and lifted him off the seat. "Spend the fucking week in Azkaban. Think I fucking care, prick?"

Holding the Leprechaun at arm's length to avoid getting bitten (he had learned that lesson that hard way), Ron walked through the office of Magical Law Enforcement, ignoring other members of the Squad who poked their heads out of their cubicles, curious to see who was causing all the ruckus.

"Could've been easy, this one," Ron muttered. "Just needed to fill in one fucking form, now I've got to fill in a dozen." He glared at the Leprechaun who was trying his best to kick him. "Right bastard you are! All you had to do was let me process you. Now you're going to Azkaban. That's just plain stupid!"

Ron walked through a set of oak doors and was greeted by a slim man who was only a few years older than him, but looked at least a decade more.

"Wotcher, Ron."

"Hi, Jack."

"What trouble did you bring me today?" Jack said, nodding toward the Leprechaun.

"Got drunk at the Leaky and tried to play poker with Leprechaun's gold," Ron explained as he took a chain hanging from a bar and attached it to the handcuffs binding the Leprechaun's wrists.

He pointed to a bench. "Sit!"

The Leprechaun spat on his shoes.

Ron pulled out his wand and placed the tip under the Leprechaun's chin. "Sit!"

The Leprechaun let loose one last hurried string of invectives. After Ron pressed his wand harder into his coarse red-haired beard, he relented and climbed up on the bench.

"Not exactly a crime," Jack responded.

"Nope. But getting up on a table, pulling down your trousers, and peeing on everyone's cards is."

Jack handed Ron a clipboard with forms. "Not one that'll land you in Azkaban."

Ron chuckled. "Ask him his name."

"Huh?"

"Go on, ask him."

"Oi, mate, what's your name?"

"What? What was that?" the Leprechaun said in an exaggerated tone, holding his hand behind his ear. "You want to suck me dick! Well, fuck you, you fucking poofter! Fucking cocksucking arse bandit!"

"Daft pillock," Jack said, shaking his head.

"Yep. If I can't process him to make sure he's not wanted for something, then he goes to Azkaban."

"Sorry."

"Thanks, Jack," Ron said, putting the clipboard under his arm. "I've got to get these processed."

Ron glared at the prisoner one last time before leaving.

"Ron!" Jack called out. "See you at the Leaky?"

Ron twisted his neck to look at Jack. "Nope, got work to - umpfh! Dad!"

Arthur Weasley reached out his arms and steadied Ron, who had walked directly into him.

"Hi, Ron. Where are you off to?"

"Have to process these forms." Ron poked at his clipboard.

"I'll walk with you," Arthur said, turning to face the same direction as Ron.

Ron shrugged. "Okay."

"I heard the ruckus. Unruly Leprechaun?"

"Yeah." Ron yawned.

"Are you getting any sleep?"

"Dad, please. I have to listen to Hermione and Mum nag me all the time – not you too!"

"Everyone is just worried about…" Arthur stopped short when Ron sighed.

They walked in silence back to Ron's desk. Ron watched his father's eyes roam over the photographs that adorned the walls and the top of the desk. Both their eyes stopped on the same one – a picture of Ron, Hermione, and Harry at Percy and Penelope's wedding.

"Ron…" Arthur rested his hip on the edge of the desk and looked intently at his son. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "We've looked everywhere. Maybe he just doesn't want to be found."

Ron looked around to make sure no one was lurking. "We're getting close," he said quietly. "In fact, I'm waiting for word from an American Ministry on some unexplained magic being performed sporadically in a Muggle area."

"I know your mum worries more than she should, but she's right about this. You don't sleep. You don't do anything but work and look for Harry."

"I'm sorry if a holiday isn't on my list of priorities," Ron answered bitterly. "If you'll excuse me." He sat down and slammed the clipboard on the desk. "I have to finish these forms."

Ron pulled out a fresh quill, bent his head, and began filling out a form. He bowed his head further under his father's relentless gaze.

An inter-office memo flew in and landed in Ron's in-bin, breaking the awkward moment.

Mr Weasley sighed and put his hand on Ron's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, son. Come to the Burrow for a visit this weekend. At the very least, let your mother feed you."

"Okay, Dad," Ron said, reaching for the memo. He couldn't be angry with his father for caring. "I'll be there Sunday for dinner. I promise."

The memo was good news from Jack.

_Ron,_

_The Leprechaun cracked as soon as he found out the Dementors were back as Azkaban guards. He gave up his name. I sent him on to Magical Creatures. He'll just be spending a night in the Ministry cell._

_I filled out the necessary paperwork._

_I hope this means you can stop by the pub for a drink after work._

_Cheers,_

_Jack_

Ron folded up the memo, filed it away, pulled the forms off the clipboard and threw them in the trash. He checked the clock. A half hour until his shift was over, leaving him time to see if Tonks was at her desk. He grabbed a folder and went to look.

The double doors that led to the Auror section had a sign warning for _Authorized Personnel Only_. Though not an Auror anymore, he was still allowed to come and go in this area as he pleased.

Ron spotted Tonks's pink hair over the wall of her cubicle. She was talking to Susan Bones.

Susan waved. "Hi, Ron."

Tonks turned around and smiled. "I was looking for you earlier, Ron."

Susan winked at him and her head disappeared behind the wall.

"Hi, Tonks," Ron said, pulling a chair from a nearby empty desk into Tonks's cubicle. "Sorry I didn't stop by sooner, but I had a Leprechaun –"

Tonks made a face. "Nasty buggers!"

Ron nodded as he sat down. "I heard you were looking for an urn suspected in the use of a dark magic ceremony last month," he said loud enough so everyone could hear, but not too loud to sound obvious.

"Yep. We've been looking for that urn for weeks," she replied and Ron's heart soared; she had what he was looking for.

"Brilliant." He tried to hide his smile. "I'll write up what I found out from an informant and send it on to you."

Ron kicked the chair back into the corridor and stood to leave.

"Thanks, Ron."

"Oh," Ron stopped and slapped his forehead, "I forgot. I'll need your signature to talk to him further about it, since it crosses with an Auror investigation."

He handed her the folder and watched her sign a form and slip a few pieces of paper into it.

"Be sure to detail everything that he told you," she said in a professional tone as she handed him the information.

"Yeah. Yeah." Ron ran his fingers along the top of the folder, hardly able to continue his curiosity.

"Go." She rolled her eyes.

He pushed the chair back in its proper place and headed for the door, but paused when he passed the set of cubicles that used to be his and Harry's.

They were occupied now, though the Aurors weren't in them. He stepped inside Harry's and looked around, remembering the hours he had spent in here looking for clues as to why Harry left work, cleared out his account at Gringott's, paid off the outstanding notes on their cottage in Godric's Hollow, and disappeared.

Someone cleared his throat. The new occupant of the desk stood in front of Ron, looking at him curiously.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, brushing past him and rushing back to his desk.

Ron felt good about this. Very good. This was it. He knew it.

He Apparated to the garden at Godric's Hollow and rushed towards the door, but slammed into it when he tried to open it and push forward at the same time.

Hermione was entirely too paranoid, he thought as he rummaged in his pockets for the key. But before he could find it, Hermione opened the door.

"Honestly, Ron, it's a door! Do I have to sew the key inside your robes so you don't lose it?"

Ignoring her, Ron pulled the file out from under his robes that he and Tonks had passed around this afternoon and waved it at her.

"This is it!" he exclaimed.

"The American Ministry came through?"

"Yep," he said, pushing past her and going directly into the study. "They had three incidents of magic coming out of a small town in Pennsylvania."

"Was Tonks careful? Were you careful?"

"Yes and Yes. It's a Muggle town called New Hope," he continued. He put the file on the desk and opened it. "There are no registered wizards living there. And the magic was too powerful to have been an underage wizard."

"Ron," Hermione said softly, "it was probably just a wizard or witch traveling through."

"That's what the Ministry thought too, so they didn't investigate." He pointed to the paper detailing the incidents. "But Tonks's contact thought there might be something to it. She said that the magic happened in the same place three months apart and then two months later another incident happened very close to the first two."

"And this contact can be trusted?"

"If Tonks trusts her, then I trust her." Ron sighed and pushed the file closer to Hermione. "Read! I have to get ready to leave first thing in the morning. I already spoke to McGonagall and she'll have the Portkey ready for me in the morning."

"Ron." Hermione put her hand on his arm. "This isn't a lot and there's nothing here that points to it being Harry. Why would Harry go to America of all places?"

Ron rolled his eyes, annoyed that he had to answer such an obvious question. "To hide!"

"Ron," Hermione placed her hand gently on his arm, "it really is a very slim chance."

Ron pulled his arm back so that hers fell off. "No." He shook his head. "No! This is it! I can feel it!"

"You said that the last five times," she pointed out.

"You're giving up!"

"No, I'm not," she said calmly.

"Then why aren't you excited about this?"

"Let's eat. We can talk about it over dinner."

"I don't want to eat." Ron turned and stormed out of the room.

"Ron, stop please," Hermione begged, following him. "I –"

Ron took the steps two at a time to the first floor. "What? Do you believe them?" He spun around outside his bedroom door to face her. "Did they convince you too? Did they make you believe that Harry's a dark wizard that murdered my brother?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she glared at him. "Of course I don't believe them! I just don't want to be disappointed again."

"You're giving up," he grumbled. He stepped into the room and slammed the door.

A few seconds later, he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He pulled his suitcase from under his bed and began packing it with the Muggle clothes Hermione had made him buy for these sorts of trips. True to her character, Hermione had researched all of the latest Muggle fashions and dragged Ron through Muggle shops looking for the right clothing. The one thing he hadn't been able to understand were the jeans she'd insisted he buy. He couldn't understand why people would pay good money for jeans that looked like they had been previously worn. He had spent his most of his life wearing hand-me-downs, and Hermione made him buy jeans that looked like someone had beaten them against rocks.

He shoved them into the suitcase, feeling angry. Angry at the jeans for looking worn. Angry at Hermione for making him buy them. And angry that she was right and this was probably nothing and Harry would still be out there without Ron to protect him.

A week after Harry had disappeared, after he had been interviewed for hours on end, telling the story over and over again, he'd taken all of his savings out of the bank and bought a Pensieve. At first, he had spent every night putting the memories of the days leading up to Harry's disappearance into it and reliving them through a different perspective. Eventually, it tapered off and he only used it when he needed to see Harry again, if only in a memory.

Ron opened his wardrobe door and pulled out the heavy stone basin. He extracted the memory from the night before Percy died, poked it with his wand, and went swirling into the entryway of what had at that time been their new home.

_"Harry! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, running towards them. _

_Ron put his broom on the hook and undid the clasps of his robe. "What's going on?"_

_"The kitchen is done! Hurry." She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him along with her. "Come look."_

_Ron came up behind Harry and looked over his shoulder into the last room in the house to be complete. "Finally!"_

_"It looks brilliant, Hermione," Harry said, stepping into it and looking around. "I never thought it'd be finished."_

_At the time, Ron hadn't noticed how Harry's eyes didn't match his smile. They looked worried. But seeing it all these times in the Pensieve still didn't give him a clue as to why._

_"Let's have dinner in here tonight," Hermione announced. "I've already stocked the ice box and cupboards." She pointed to the sink. "Potatoes. Ron, please peel them, while Harry sets the table."_

_Harry began clearing the table of Hermione's things: a tea cup, an empty plate with muffins crumbs, and a newspaper. He stopped to read the front page._

_"Oh, isn't that awful?" she cried, walking away from the counter to read over his shoulder._

_Harry's forehead crinkled. "I thought the other guy, the bloke who they killed, was some kind of a monster."_

_She nodded. "He was, but this new i government /i ," she wrinkled her nose in disgust, "they're just as bad. Maybe even worse. They were accused of doing all sorts of horrible things to people in small villages while they –"_

_"Hermione!" Ron said. "No bloody depressing talk. Harry and I just got home from work."_

_"Well, I did too, Ronald!"_

Ron pulled himself from the memory and sat down on the bed. Everything had seemed so perfect; there was no reason for Harry to have left them. He wouldn't – he couldn't ever believe what the Ministry said about Harry.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who had saved him from the depths of the lake, the man who had defeated Voldemort, his best friend, did not kill Percy because Percy had discovered him practicing dark magic.

No matter how much it looked like Harry's departure and Percy's murder had something to do with each other. Ron was positive that it was only a coincidence.

And so was Hermione.

He finished packing and went downstairs to say that he was sorry, but she wasn't in the study. The file was still on the desk, along with a map, the town of New Hope, Pennsylvania circled in red. He looked through the other papers. Hermione had left him some facts about the town.

_Small Muggle tourist town._

_Population of approximately 2,400._

_Located next to the Delaware River._

_Antique shops and art galleries (best to say that you're in town looking for antiques)._

_The first two magic happenings were located in an establishment, Nobody's Inn. It's a bar, restaurant, and small inn. _

_The third incident happened at a nightclub, Fusion._

Ron put everything into the file and went to Hermione's room before knocking softly on the door.

"Come in," she said, and he could tell that she had been crying.

He opened the door enough to see in. She was sitting on the bed with a tissue in her hand. "I feel awful, Hermione. I don't think that you –"

She sniffed. "I know you don't. I miss him and worry about him too."

Opening the door wider, Ron stepped into the room and sat next to her on the bed.

"It's been," she sniffed again and blew her nose, "ten months. That's a long time, Ron. What if he's…"

"He's not," Ron said firmly, putting his arm around her. "We both know that he's not."

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. "This is it. I feel it too. You're going to go to America tomorrow and bring Harry home to us."

_TBC_


	2. A New Name

**The Darkest Recesses of the Heart **

**Chapter Two:** **_A New Name_**

Ron arrived in New Hope, Pennsylvania, on a crisp cool, sunny day. He Apparated just outside the town inside an old barn. The trip had been long and nauseating, and he was grateful that it was over, even if he had landed on his bum in the middle of a pile of hay.

After brushing the straw off his brand new black coat, he buttoned it and pulled a scarf out of his pocket to wrap around his neck. He opened the map and frowned. Just his luck; Nobody's Inn was on the other side of town. Hermione's voice buzzed in his head. _"Don't use magic! You don't want any Ministries nearby tracking it!"_

Grumbling to himself about doing it the Muggle way, he picked up his suitcase, wishing that he had remembered to cast a weightless charm on it before he left home, and began the walk into town.

Once he reached Main Street, he checked the map again and made a left. The first few blocks revealed a quiet residential area lined with houses that were surrounded by white picket fenses, manicured lawns, and blooming colourful gardens; Ron felt confident that it wouldn't be difficult to look for Harry here. His confidence faded as he reached the centre of town and found himself weaving in and out of a throng of people cramming the sidewalk. Each shop and restaurant that Ron peered into was brimming with people. He walked through the crowd, his heart pounding with the anxiety that he always felt being around Muggles without Hermione or Harry there to tell him if he was doing something wrong.

At the thought of Harry, Ron's nervousness transformed into determination. He only had three days to find Harry in this lot and he wasn't going to let Muggles stand in his way. Besides, he could throw off the Muggles by blaming any faux pas he made on the differences between American and British cultures.

The Nobody's Inn was located at the edge of the town where the Pennsylvania Canal crossed Main Street. The inn was no different than the rest of the town, and Ron had to wait several minutes before the clerk at the front desk had helped everyone before him in the queue.

The young man smiled brightly as Ron approached. "How may I help you?"

"Hi. I need a room for three nights."

"Oh, a Brit! I just adore your accent."

Ron didn't know how to reply, so he just smiled and nodded.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Do you have a reservation?"

"No. This was a last minute trip."

"Oh, spontaneous!"

"Er, yeah. Well, I'm hoping that you could find something for me. It can be a small room. I don't need anything extravagant."

The man shook his head. "Sorry, Red, it's the fall foliage season. We're booked solid every weekend until Thanksgiving."

"Um, and…" Ron read the name tag pinned on the worker's neatly pressed white pin-striped shirt. "Marty, when would that be?"

Marty squealed. "Adorable! I love you Brits!"

Ron tried to say something that wouldn't give Marty cause to make that noise again. "How about another inn?"

"Every room for rent in Bucks County is booked. But..." Marty leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk, and stared at Ron in a way that made Ron blush, "...there might be a room later today. A couple that was due here last night hasn't checked in yet." He checked his watch. "If they don't call in the next hour, the room will be released."

"Brilliant!"

Marty held up a list filled with about a dozen names. "But these are the people ahead of you."

Ron's smiled faded. "Oh. Well then, I understand."

He turned to leave, but Marty reached over the counter and grabbed his arm, squeezing the bicep. "You could leave me your cell phone number and I'll call you if they don't show… if…" He smiled devilishly. "If you promise to stop by the bar here tonight and hang out with me and my friends."

"Yeah." Ron agreed without a fuss; he had planned on spending the night at the bar looking for Harry anyway. "I could do that."

Diverting his eyes from Marty's intense stare, Ron studied a pamphlet enticing tourists to visit Hershey's Chocolate World; it was something that Ron thought might warrant a visit back this way someday.

"Red, I'll need that number," said Marty.

"Right." Ron pulled the mobile out of his pocket that Hermione had given him and read the number off the piece of yellow paper she taped on the back. "It accepts international calls," he added, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

"So cute!"

"Thank you," Ron mumbled.

Something mouth-watering had been tickling Ron's nose since he entered the inn. Putting a hand on his grumbling stomach, he looked around for the source of it.

"Hungry?" Marty asked as he waved a couple, who had just entered the inn, up to the desk.

"Yes, I think I'll just…" Ron pointed towards the entrance to the restaurant.

"Sure, Red."

But Ron didn't walk right away; he lingered around the desk to make sure that the newly arrived couple wasn't here for the room he hoped to claim. After the visitors gave their names, Marty winked at Ron and gave him the thumbs up.

Lunch was wonderful. At the recommendation of the waiter, another astonishingly friendly American, Ron ordered the special: chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, and a glass of sun-brewed iced tea. He finished it all and allowed the waiter to persuade him into trying a piece of pumpkin pie. When Ron made a face at the first taste, the waiter took it away and brought back a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Before Ron had finished his pie, Marty came into the dining room to tell him that the couple had cancelled and the room was his.

Marty yelled over to the waiter to put lunch on room seven's bill, grabbed Ron's suitcase, and led him back to the check-in desk.

"I'll just need your credit card," said Marty.

"Right." Ron pulled out his wallet and handed Marty the credit card that Bill procured for him from Gringott's. It looked liked a Muggle card, an American Express, but the charge went to a fake account belonging to Ronald A. Madison.

Marty slid it through a machine that immediately made three short consecutive beeping sounds, which Ron could only assume wasn't normal by the way Marty glared at it.

"Stupid thing," Marty muttered, lifting the small device and inspecting it.

He held it up and let Ron see. Ron had no idea why there were a bunch of green zeros flashing on it, but he made a noise of agreement and nodded his head. This had happened before when he tried to use the card, and he wondered what sort of magic the goblins had put into it.

"I'll have to do it the hard way," Marty said irritably.

"Whatever, mate," Ron said, flashing a smile and hoping the broken Muggle thing didn't give cause for suspicion.

"So, mate," Marty giggled to himself, seeming to have forgotten to be in a bad mood. "What are you here for? Business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure. Looking for antiques, shopping, sightseeing," he waved his hand casually. "You know, normal tourist stuff."

"Well then you've come to the right place!" Marty said, handing him a slip of paper. "Sign here."

Ron signed his alias, feeling a spark of excitement of having succeeded in hoodwinking his way into the inn.

Marty handed him back his credit card and a room key. "Room seven. Up the spiral staircase behind the fireplace, take a right, and go to the end of the hall."

As Ron headed towards the stairs, Marty called out reminding him about his promise. Ron gave a small wave and a nod, his step momentarily faltering when Marty winked at him, and disappeared behind the fireplace toward his room.

The charming quaint and cozy room went unnoticed by Ron. He threw his suitcase on the handmade quilt covering the queen bed, pulled out the mobile phone, and held down the number two just as Hermione had instructed him.

Hermione must've been holding the phone in her hand because she picked up before the second ring.

"Ron, are you…" Hermione's voice faded away.

"Hermione! Hermione are you there?" Ron yelled into the mouthpiece.

"I'm here," she said, the words sounding metallic and far away.

Ron scrunched up his face and tried to make out what she was saying.

"Go… closer… reception… outside…"

"I don't understand you!" Ron banged the phone on his leg out of frustration. "Bloody Muggle thing!"

"Window… closer…." He heard when he put it back to his ear.

Ron rushed to the window and opened it up, hoping that would help.

"Hermione?"

"I can hear you better!" she said. "Did you remember not to use magic? Did you find the inn okay? Were you able to get a room?"

"Yes. Yes. And Yes," Ron replied happily.

"Good. Any signs of –"

"No. It's awfully crowded here. I might need a few more days to –"

"You can't! You know it would look suspicious."

Ron sighed and shifted the phone to his other ear. "All right, Hermione."

"Well then, you'd better get a move on."

"I'm trying to, but you told me to check in with you!"

"Don't argue with me," Hermione said huffily, but added in a gentler voice, "Be careful, Ron, and don't go rushing in to something without thinking about it first. We still don't know what to expect when you find him."

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron said sincerely.

"Whatever for?"

"For saying when and not _if_."

The afternoon hadn't been a total waste; he had found a Christmas gift, a lovely crystal tree ornament, for his Mum. He had searched a quarter of Main Street, including the small side streets, looking for signs of Harry.

What made it difficult was not only the fact that he wasn't looking for a stagnant object and would have to search the same areas again each day, but that he couldn't flash a photograph of Harry and ask anyone if they'd seen him. He didn't have a Muggle photograph, and, even if he did, he didn't know why Harry had left and was afraid of frightening him off if Harry heard someone was looking for him.

Tired, his feet aching, Ron stopped into the next coffeehouse for a much needed break.

Ron stared up at the menu as he waited in the queue. There were all sorts of coffees and teas with strange names. A woman with arms covered in tattoos ordered so quickly that he couldn't keep up with her. Something about a mocha cappuccino, non-fat, and two Equals. Ron shook his head, confused as to what maths had to do with coffee.

The woman took her coffee and left, and Ron stepped up to the counter.

A perky blonde woman greeted him. "Hello, welcome to the Canal Coffeehouse, how may I help you?"

"Er…" Ron glanced up at the menu once again. "A large coffee, please."

"Regular or decaf?"

"Regular."

"Smooth, medium, or bold?"

Ron looked back up at the menu for some clue as to what she meant.

"Don't worry, Shannon, I'll help him out."

A handsome man, flashing a dazzling smile and wearing a faded blue cap with Gap printed across the front, approached the counter and stood next to Ron.

"How do you like your coffee?" he asked.

"Strong."

"Sugar?"

"Loads."

"Milk? Cream?"

Ron shook his head.

"Bold, extra sugar it is then. Same for me, Shannon." The stranger offered his hand to Ron. "Andy."

Ron took it and shook it firmly, matching Andy's strong grip. "Ron."

"So, Ron, how long you staying?"

"The weekend. How did you –"

"Local," Andy replied, pointing to his broad chest. "It's a small town; we know everyone."

Shannon returned with their coffees and Andy's arm stretched in front of Ron, prohibiting him from paying. Ron argued, but secretly was grateful. He had studied American Muggle money, but suddenly, under Andy's close scrutiny, he found himself unsure and, since his credit card had broken a second machine when he paid for his mum's gift, he was afraid to use it unless absolutely necessary.

"It doesn't come free though," Andy said, holding Ron's cup closely to his chest.

"It doesn't?"

Ron was starting to sense a pattern with the Americans he had run into today.

"Join me and my friends," Andy said, gesturing to a table by the window.

Three men sat there looking back at Ron and Andy. One of the men, a blond with spiky hair and a pale blue shirt that showed the outline of his nipples, waved frantically as he bounced in his seat.

"Don't let Shawn scare you," Andy said close to Ron's ear. "He's a bit over the top, but he's got a big heart."

Andy smiled reassuringly, and, still holding Ron's coffee cup, walked towards the table. Ron followed, twisting his hips to avoid bumping into patrons and tables.

Upon close inspection, Ron saw that Shawn had two small silver hoops in both ears.

"Well, hello," Shawn said, getting up and holding his seat out to Ron.

"Hi," Ron said shyly as he sat down.

Moving directly across from Ron, Shawn squeezed next to two men on a bench that ran parallel to the window.

The man sitting next to Shawn introduced himself as Scott and pointed to the last unnamed man. "And this silent and handsome type is Jim."

Ron gave each man a polite smile and a nod. "I'm Ron."

"Ron," Shawn began in a way that Ron could only think of as a purr. "Love the accent."

"Tone it down, Shawny-boy," Andy said with no real venom in his voice. "We hear you're going to be at Nobody's tonight?"

"How did you…"

Scott tapped a mobile on the table. Ron shook his head not understanding.

"Marty's got a big mouth," Andy said.

"Oh, yeah. I'll be there."

Shawn clapped. "Another Brit, I think I'll just die!"

Ron's insides tightened. "Another Brit?"

Shawn opened his mouth to answer, but Jim answered first. "We've got quite a few of your kind living around here."

"Wonder if I know any of them," Ron said, hoping to pull more information out of the men.

Ron noticed that Jim seemed to be scrutinizing him in a way the others weren't. Shawn looked at Ron as if he was a huge ice cream sundae. Andy and Scott looked at him as if they were picking teams for Quidditch and they were trying to decide if Ron was good or not. But Jim looked at him the same way Ron looked at someone when he interrogated them.

"I think you'd know if someone you were acquainted with moved across the ocean," Jim retorted.

"Well, yeah, I reckon." Ron met Jim's intense stare. "Except the blokes and birds at school. Don't have much time to keep up with all of them."

Jim's gaze didn't falter. "So why are you here, Ron – Ron what?"

"Jim," Andy hissed. "Can't you stop being a cop for one second?"

Proud of himself for spotting that trait, Ron gave an internal whoop. 

"S'kay," Ron said, relaxing his body. "Ron Madison. I, well, it's sort of personal, but you look like blokes that I can trust. I just went through a nasty break up. Thought putting an ocean between us might help me get over her."

Andy's face fell. Scott held out his hand, palm up, and grinned at him. "Twenty-bucks, buddy."

With obvious resentment, Andy pulled a bill out of his pocket and slammed it in Scott's hand.

"Thank you," Scott said, waving it in the air. "That's my cover for Fusion tomorrow night!"

"Doesn't mean anything," Shawn said, rolling his eyes. "Jim here had a wife."

Ron had no idea what this had to do with his reason for visiting New Hope.

"Doesn't matter," Andy said, putting a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron seems like a nice guy. We can still show him a good time."

"I'd love to blow him a good time," Shawn said and earned a kick under the table from Scott. His face twisted up and he rubbed his leg. "Ow! Watcha do that for?"

"Subtle, Shawn," Jim said, still staring at Ron.

"Ron doesn't seem to mind me!" Shawn retorted.

Shawn did make Ron feel uncomfortable. Ron was thick, but he wasn't that thick. He knew Shawn was gay. He knew a gay man when he saw one. He did go to school with Zacharias Smith and Terry Boot! But the others seemed like your average blokes, and becoming friends with the locals could only help in his search.

"I don't mind." Ron swallowed his masculine pride and grinned at Shawn. "I could use a little attention after…"

"Oh, Ronnie, did she break your heart?"

Ron told Shawn, as the others listened, the best story he could think of at a moment's notice. Hermione's and his story.

"A bit. We were at school together. I had fancied her for years, but once we started dating things just weren't, well… they weren't the way I thought they'd be."

"No passion," Scott chimed in.

"Yeah, that was part of the problem." Ron took a sip of his coffee before he continued. "We didn't see eye to eye on most things and argued a lot. She decided we would be better off as friends."

All four men groaned.

Ron nodded. He thought of the weeks following their break-up and how Harry had supported him through it, and he had to swallow back emotions that surprised him he could still feel after two years.

No matter how painful it was to recall something so private to a group of strangers, it worked. Ron's new friends listened and commiserated as he went into as much detail as he could of their break-up and aftermath. By the time he left the coffee shop, he had even seemed to win over Jim, who shook his hand and said he looked forward to seeing Ron at Nobody's.

The bar at Nobody's was small and intimate like the rest of the Inn. Andy had told Ron earlier at the coffeehouse that it only attracted the locals on Friday nights for drinks, conversation, and unwinding, and that on Saturday nights everyone went to Fusion for dancing and, in Andy's words, hooking up.

Ron spotted Marty alone at the bar, his uniform foregone for a more casual outfit of jeans and a jumper. Ron breathed a sigh of relief that his own outfit, jeans and a plain black button-down shirt, didn't make him look out of place.

Marty waved him over and greeted him with a handshake. "Red, you came!"

"I promised I would," Ron replied as he scanned the small crowd for signs of Harry.

"Of course you did." Marty waved the bartender over. "Drink?"

He pointed to the pink drink in Marty's hand. "What are you drinking?"

"A cosmo, but not for you. It'll clash with your hair!" Marty said, making Ron laugh.

"Yeah, I'll have a…" Ron scanned the dozens of bottles lined up behind the bar until he spotted one that he saw Dean drinking once when they went to a Muggle bar for Lee Jordan's stag party. "Fosters, please."

Ron pulled out money for the bartender, but he smiled, handed Ron the bottle, and said, "The first one's on me."

Looking astonished, Marty waited until the bartender walked away and said, "He never gives anyone free drinks. You should think about a permanent move here to America. With the whole British thing, you'd get laid every night!"

"Nah, I'm sure it'd take more than that."

Marty shrugged. "Works for Harry."

Ron froze. He took a quick swig from the bottle in his hand, trying to remain calm.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Yeah. He's from London. I think. He's a great guy. You'll like him. Everyone likes him. And he's handsome. Not that I'm bitter or anything."

"Harry, eh? What's his last name? Maybe I know him."

"Weasley."

Ron thought he heard him wrong. "What did you say?"

"He said Weasley."

The voice sent a shudder of anticipation through Ron's body. He'd know it anywhere. He heard it in his head a hundred times a day. It called out to him every night in his sleep.

"Harry!" Marty exclaimed.

Ron spun around and stared directly into the face of his best mate.

"Harry," Ron said softly.

"Yes. Harry Weasley. Nice to meet you."

**_TBC_**


	3. A New Friend

**The Darkest Recesses of the Heart**  
**Chapter Three**: **_A New Friend_**

Ron's eyes darted from Harry's shoes to his untamed hair, which looked more like a fashion trend among these Muggles rather than a hereditary trait. Harry seemed to be fine. He hadn't changed much, except for the small wireless frames that had replaced the tortoiseshell glasses Ron had last seen him wear and a slight gain in weight.

"So do you two know each other?" Jim asked as he approached from behind Harry.

"Nope. England's a big country. Nice to meet you though… Ron is it?"

Ron blinked and opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. He nodded and shook Harry's hand, squeezing it more firmly than necessary, when Harry offered it to him.

Harry dropped his hand without even a wink of acknowledgment.

"Oh well," Jim said, following Harry towards the bar. "Let's get a drink."

As Jim passed Ron, who was staring at the empty spot that Harry had just vacated, he said, "You look like you could use another drink yourself. This round's on me."

This had to be a ruse. A part of Harry's plan. Harry was just waiting for the right moment to get Ron alone; Ron was sure of it.

An arm holding a bottle of beer snaked around from behind Ron, rousing Ron from his shock. "Here ya go," Jim said.

When Ron remained frozen, Jim took the empty bottle out of Ron's hand and replaced it with the fresh bottle.

Ron managed to mumble a thank you, more out of habit than a conscious thought.

"Come join the fun," Jim said, leading Ron by the elbow to the bar where Marty and Harry stood.

Just when Ron thought his mind couldn't spin any faster, Shawn, Andy, and Scott showed up.

Shawn ran up to the bar, jumped on Jim's back, threw his legs around his waist, and shouted, "Piggyback ride!"

"Get off me, you queen!" Jim said, shaking to throw the other man off him.

"You're such a party-pooper," Shawn said, dropping to his feet and sticking his tongue out at Jim's back. He spotted Ron and his eyes widened. "Ron! You came! And, oh, Harry's here too!"

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Shawn stood next to Ron and yanked Harry by the sleeve to stand on the opposite side. "Now, I want you both to say 'g'day, mate,' then kiss me on the cheek."

"Shawn, you idiot," Andy said. "That's Australian. Not British."

"Whatever," Shawn retorted, waving his hand in a go away gesture. "Fine. Then say…" He looked at Andy. "What is it they say?"

"Cheers, mate." Andy and Scott answered at the same time.

"Yeah, that's it. Cheers, mate." He looked back and forth between Harry and Ron. "Go ahead. Do it."

"He won't give up until you do it," Jim said flatly.

Andy and Scott made sounds of agreement.

"Cheers, mate," Harry said and leaned in, pausing an inch or so away from Shawn's cheek. He looked at Ron and smiled shyly.

Searching Harry's eyes, Ron looked for not a confirmation to perform the odd request, but for a sign of recognition. He blamed the lack of not seeing any on the poor lighting in the bar.

"Cheers, mate," Ron said and kissed Shawn lightly on the cheek. He could hear the smack of Harry's lips as he did the same.

Andy, Marty, and Scott whooped and hollered.

Sighing, Shawn fanned himself. "A gay boy's wet dream!" he exclaimed, stepping away towards Andy and Scott.

"You're a good sport," Harry said to Ron.

Ron managed a blithe shrug, but it went unnoticed by Harry who was already talking to Marty.

This was part of Harry's plan, Ron assured himself. Harry would wait for the right opportunity and go off alone, so Ron would follow and they could talk. It didn't make sense. But none of it did.

Over an hour passed and Harry still hadn't left the group. The noise in the bar escalated as the crowd grew around them, giving Ron a headache on top of his growing frustration. Ron endured Shawn's antics, Andy and Scott's small talk, Jim's unwavering watchful glare, and Marty's flirting while he silently assessed the situation and his options. His instinct told him to grab Harry and make a run for it, but what he had learned kept him from doing anything except wait.

Each time their eyes met, Ron tried to say something without vocalizing the words, while willing Harry to understand. Each time, Harry looked puzzled before he looked away.

Andy approached Ron, seeming to have noticed that Ron was less than thrilled with the situation, but mistook it for shyness over the attention Ron received from the men.

"Sorry, Ron, we tend to go overboard when new blood shows up."

"New blood?"

"It's a small town. Us locals here that are single… well, we've all been there and done that. The dating pool is shallow and this is a romantic sort of place for tourists, so mostly couples travel through. When a single guy shows up, we, uh… we pounce!" Andy laughed and poked Ron in the ribs.

Ron smiled pleasantly. Andy was gay too, which meant Scott and Jim were probably as well and it added another mystery to the growing list – what was Harry doing with this lot?

"I'm not…" Ron began, but his voice trailed off when he saw Harry walking away. Ron put his beer on the bar. "Where's the loo?"

"It's…" Andy turned to point across the room. "Looks like Harry's on his way. Just follow him."

It was exactly what Ron wanted to hear. He walked briskly across the room, watching Harry's back. Seconds after Harry, Ron entered the small bathroom. Harry was standing at a urinal and looked up when Ron came in, smiled, and looked away.

Ron approached the urinals, picked one two down from Harry, and discovered he really did have to go.

Feigning casualness, Ron asked, "So, mate, where are you from?"

This was so far from what Ron had expected upon finding Harry and, now alone with him, the shock of it all begun to lift and panic set in. He wished Hermione was here. He didn't know how to handle Harry pretending that they were strangers.

"Around here," Harry answered as he pulled up his zip. "I live in a guest house here at Nobody's."

"No." Ron shook his head. Harry walked to the sink and began washing his hands. Ron hurriedly joined him at the next basin. "I meant, where are you originally from?"

Harry looked at Ron in the mirror and rolled his eyes. "England, of course. I thought we worked that one out."

Reaching over Ron, Harry pulled paper hand towels out of a white, metal box fastened to the wall. Driven by pure desperation, Ron grabbed Harry's forearm, holding it firmly.

"Harry!" he said more harshly than he had meant. "What are you playing at?"

Harry tried to yank away.

The bathroom door opened with a creak, and Ron quickly let go and put his hands back under the water.

"So this is where you two are hiding."

Looking through the mirror, Ron saw Jim standing behind him. Harry, pale-faced and looking shaken, threw his towel in the rubbish bin and walked past Jim without saying a word.

Ron tried to act as if nothing had just happened and dried his hands. Suddenly, once he stopped berating himself internally for mucking up his first chance at being alone with Harry, the idea that Harry might try to make a run for it struck him. He tried to rush past Jim and out of the bathroom. But Jim grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him still. Ron wiggled his arm subtlety, making the wand hidden up his sleeve drop down so that his thumb could curve around the handle.

"Not so fast. We need to talk," Jim said.

"I have to –"

"He's not going anywhere."

Ron faced Jim and tried his best to hide his feelings from showing on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You're worried Harry's going to run. He's not."

"Yeah and how do you know that?" Ron asked, trying to keep his tone curious rather than accusatory

Jim shrugged. "Hunch."

"Listen, Jim, you seem like a nice bloke, but you don't know what you're talking about."

"P.I.?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you a private investigator?"

"I know what a P.I. is! And I'm not one of them!" Ron said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I –"

"Fine. We'll go out there, so you can keep an eye on him, but you're talking to me!"

Ron marched out of the bathroom. He walked through the crowd until he could see the bar and confirm what Jim had said was true. Harry was there, ordering another drink from the bartender.

"Happy now?" Jim asked from behind Ron.

Out of curiosity, Ron stopped. "Why do you think I'm concerned about Harry?"

Since Ron hadn't turned around, Jim stepped in front of him.

"I'm asking the questions," Jim said sternly. "If you're not a P.I. then what do you want with Harry?"

Ron summoned up a fake smile and tried to take back control from this annoyingly persistent stranger. "I don't know what you're talking about. I thought maybe I knew him, but –"

"He didn't know _you_, but you sure as hell know _him_."

"You're mental."

"Maybe, but I've been waiting for someone to show up for him."

"How do you mean?" Jim glared at him, and Ron matched his look with one that he hoped looked meaner. "The no question rule was yours, not mine."

"I'll answer your questions, Ron, when you tell me why you're here. Harry's my best friend and –"

"I'm Harry's best friend!"

Jim smirked. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Fuck," Ron said, punching his leg.

"Is Harry in danger?"

"Not from me."

"But he is –"

"This is really none of your business."

Jim took a step to the side and blocked Harry from Ron's view. Ron took two steps to gain it back.

"You might not be a P.I., but you're some sort of cop."

Ignoring everything he had promised Hermione he wouldn't do, he answered, "I'm in law enforcement – yes."

"Are you here to arrest Harry?"

"No! Blimey, I just told you he's my best mate."

"Then why are –"

"I'm not going to answer any questions until you answer some of mine," Ron said, crossing his arms.

Jim stood silent for a minute before giving a slight nod.

"Why do you think someone would come looking for Harry?"

"He's a man without a past."

"I don't understand."

"Harry showed up here about eight months ago. He seemed okay. Just some British guy. We liked him right away. But I started to notice things. How he didn't have any identification, and he paid for everything in cash. He didn't give details about his life. Only basic stuff."

Turning this new information over in his mind, Ron quickly figured out that there were now two months unaccounted for from when Harry disappeared until he showed up here. "What do you mean basic stuff?"

"My turn to ask a question," Jim said. "How long have you known Harry?"

"Since we were eleven. We were at school together. Now answer mine."

"Everything was at this higher level. His name was Harry Weasley. He was raised in England, but never said where. Came from a large family. He didn't like his job and he was single, so he decided to come to America for something different."

As Jim continued, Ron noticed his stance, which had started out stubborn and defiant, had relaxed a bit. "He never gave details. Like this happened to me or that happened to me. We would all sit around and tell tales of ex-lovers and not one from Harry. Marty, who has nine brothers and sisters, has all sorts of stories about being raised in a big family. Harry not one. So why is he here?"

"I don't know," Ron replied. "And that's the truth. I don't know why he left."

"But it's a lot more complicated than he just wanted something different?"

"Yes."

Jim looked around. "Let's go out here," he said gesturing to the door that led to the inn's reception area. When Ron didn't move, he added, "I promise if he runs, I'll help you find him."

There was a sincerity in Jim's voice that made Ron even consider it. He had been looking for Harry for so long, letting him out of his sight was difficult. Though Ron had no proof that this stranger could be trusted, as Jim had put it earlier, Ron just had a hunch that Jim could be a valuable ally.

Ron followed Jim through the doors. The reception area was empty except for the night clerk behind the desk who was busy watching the telly. Before sitting on the sofa next to Jim, Ron pushed his wand back up his sleeve.

Jim looked at his empty hand. "Should've gotten a drink first. I have a feeling we're going to need them."

"I'm fine. Just tell me everything that you know," Ron said.

"You first. Tell me who you are and why you tracked Harry here."

Unsure of how he could explain it all without revealing anything regarding magic, Ron paused and stared at the fire.

Finally he took a deep breath, and said, "I am Harry's best friend. We worked together –"

"Harry was a cop?"

"Sort of." As Ron explained, Jim watched him with a curiously intent and serious expression. "We lived together with another friend. One day Harry left work early, said he wasn't feeling well. He didn't come home for dinner, but we assumed he was just visiting a friend. He never came back." He ran a hand through his hair. "People, important people, said that he was a criminal. They said it enough that everyone believed it."

"But not you?"

Ron shook his head solemnly. "No, not me." It felt like a Pygmy Puff was lodged in his throat. He swallowed before pointing at Jim. "Your turn."

"I figured after I started poking around about him, someone would track him down. I tried to cover my tracks, Ron. Honestly, I did. I hope… I hope that I didn't put him in some kind of danger."

"Poking around?" Ron didn't think this sounded good at all. "What sort of poking around?"

"A few months ago, I decided to see if Harry was in any of our databases as a missing person. Nothing came up. Which wasn't a surprise, we're small town here, our resources are limited to just area databases. So I asked a cop buddy of mine who works in Philly to run a description of Harry." Jim gestured towards his forehead. "I figured the scar would be an easy identifier. Asked him to do it off-the-record. It took him a few weeks to get around to it, but, eventually, he contacted me and said that he had a hit and it was pretty serious.

"I drove to Philly to check it out and he showed me the file from the international criminal database for a Harry Potter not Weasley. A Harry Potter who was wanted for the murder of Percy Weasley and was to be considered armed and dangerous.

"He also did some digging and called the local force in London that should have been investigating the case. The guy he talked to said that they had no open cases with either Harry Potter as a suspect or Percy Weasley as a victim and they had never heard of the investigator listed on the case."

This was getting worse. Ron clenched and unclenched his fist, a habit that helped him think. They had never considered that the Ministry would've alerted Muggles.

"I didn't peg Harry as a murderer, but that wasn't what made me search further. I found it odd that someone on the run for murder would take up the last name of the person he murdered! Unless he was some crazy serial killer or something and Harry just didn't fit that profile.

"My friend was curious as well and ran a general search on the FBI database for international criminals and Harry's name came up as an international terrorist."

Ron gasped. "A what? A bloody what?"

"Exactly! That's a pretty extreme leap. It didn't make any sense. My friend got nervous and washed his hands of it, but promised me he wouldn't say anything."

Cold fear uncoiled in Ron's gut. "Can he be trusted?"

"He won't tell anyone, Ron, but if they ask him, he can't lie. He'd lose his job. I lied and told him that I had run across Harry during a trip into Philly –"

"Where is Philly?"

"Philadelphia. A city about forty miles from here. I figured if he had to give any information, at least it wouldn't lead anyone directly here." Jim sighed. "Something wasn't adding up. I just wanted time to figure some things out."

"I didn't find Harry because of your search." Ron thought up a lie quickly. "We received an anonymous tip. Someone traveling through here saw him."

"You don't believe Harry killed this Percy Weasley."

"No, I don't."

"That was another thing I couldn't explain. I Googled the name and I searched through records and newspapers, but couldn't find anything regarding a murder of Percy Weasley. I started to wonder if there even was a murder."

"There was. Percy was my brother."

Jim's attitude changed and the suspicious glare returned.

"I'm not here for revenge, if that's what you're thinking," Ron said quickly. "Harry didn't murder him. I don't know who did, but it _wasn't_ Harry."

"I doubt that too."

Ron looked at him in disbelief. "Why? You hardly know Harry."

"I might not know _your_ Harry, but I know this Harry pretty well. Besides I confronted him about it."

"You what?"

"I confronted him. I asked him point blank if he was running from the cops. He denied it. Though he still couldn't give me any details about his life. He's very good at diverting people when he's asked. He said he had no idea who Harry Potter was, but it wasn't him."

"And you believed him just based on his word?"

"Of course not. I waited. I stayed close to him. Watched his house at night. But days went by and then weeks and he never ran. That's not the action of a guilty man. At least that's what I thought, until now."

Ron stood up and glared down at Jim. "He didn't kill my brother."

"I think he didn't run away because he doesn't remember. Doesn't know who Harry Potter is. I don't believe in that amnesia crap. Criminals try to use it all the time. Do you know how rare it really is?"

"No, I don't. And I don't care if it's rare or not. If Harry's acting like it… then he…" The weight of it all came crashing down on him. Grief, despair, and fear washed over him. Ron flopped back onto the sofa. "He doesn't know who I am."

"Ron," Jim said softly. "Is it a possibility that he did kill your brother and doesn't remember?"

"No. You don't understand… I can't explain… you have to believe me. Harry Potter risked his life to save people, including me. He would never take an innocent life. _Never_."

"I do believe you," Jim said sincerely. He shook his head. "Things just don't add up."

"Jim, please don't tell anyone else about this. Harry's in danger. He's been set-up and I can't prove it… yet. But he has."

"I hate dirty cops," Jim spat.

"It goes higher than that."

"I won't say anything." As if to prove that he wouldn't, Jim said, "I could've contacted the investigator listed on the database, but I didn't. Something in my gut just told me not to."

"What was the investigator's name?"

"Scrimgeour."

Ron left Jim knowing what he had to do. They rejoined everyone and Ron immediately claimed to be knackered and excused himself. After making false promises to join the group of friends the following night at Fusion, Ron took one last look at Harry, who refused to meet his eyes, and went to his room.

It didn't take long to throw his clothes into a suitcase. Calling Hermione entered his mind, but he didn't. She'd want time to evaluate the situation and Ron had made his mind, nothing she could say would change it.

The reception area was empty. Ron glanced once at the door to the bar and where Harry was before he nodded to the clerk and walked out the front door and towards the guest houses, which Jim had given him directions to.

He followed the stone path, lit up by white lights stuck in the grass alongside of it, and walked towards the porch lights on the houses that bordered the canal. Jim had told him Harry's was the blue one with the white shutters. Ron saw it and looked around for a place to hide, finding one behind a line of bushes.

The night was cold. A sharp, bitter cold and Ron could see his breath coming out in spurts. When he grew bored, he tried to make rings by forming an 'o' with his lips and exhaling slowly.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually Ron heard someone walking up the path. Though he was anxious to see if it was Harry, he waited until he heard a door close. Peeking his head above the bushes, he saw Harry's house light up from the inside.

He picked up his suitcase, gathered his courage, and walked up to Harry's front door.

_'That was daft. Convenient, but daft,'_ Ron thought when Harry opened the door after Ron knocked.

Harry paused, his eyes showing uncertainty mingled with a bit of fear.

"I didn't mean to bother you," Ron said quickly, before Harry could slam the door in his face. Ron held out a Muggle pen. "Did you drop this?"

Instinctively, Harry reached out for it and the moment he touched it, Ron, as he was instructed by Professor McGonagall, pushed in the silver tip that would bring him and Harry back home.

_**TBC**_


	4. A New Plan

**The Darkest Recesses of the Heart**  
**Chapter Four: _A New Idea_**

Ron dropped out of the magical passageway and landed with a thud on his feet in the dark and silent sitting room of their home in Godric's Hollow. After dropping his suitcase, he waved his hand, lighting the fireplace and torches that lined the walls. The flames flared up and revealed Harry, who was kneeling on the floor and looking understandably dazed.

"My glasses…" Harry said, his voice trembling.

Stepping forward, Ron held out his hand, offering to help Harry to his feet. Looking at Ron's hand as though it were a deadly weapon, Harry knee-walked backwards.

It unnerved Ron to the core to see Harry scared. Harry was the strong one; that's the way it had always been. Harry was the brave one, Hermione was the smart one, and Ron was… well, Ron was still trying to figure that out.

"Harry, please, trust me. I won't hurt you," Ron said, taking small, non-threatening steps forward. "This is –"

There was a strange _whoosh_ sound above their heads. Ron looked up to see Harry's glasses appear out of nowhere. Swiftly, they started to drop and, in the blink of an eye, Harry's hand snatched them out of the air.

Ron grinned broadly. "Blimey, Harry! Some things never change!"

Harry only stared at him, unblinking, just like Crookshanks did when Ron tried to get him out from under his bed.

Eventually, he blinked a few times before looking at the glasses in his hand. "Where did these come from? They…" He squinted up at the ceiling. "They came out of… how?"

"Just put them on, Harry."

Slowly, Harry opened the stems and slid the glasses on his face.

It seemed that once his vision had been corrected, the shock wore off and Harry began to rave. "What – where – who – why did you bring me here? Where am I?" Harry's neck twisted from side to side as he looked around the room. "Where is here? How did we…"

Harry stood up, his legs clearly unsteady, and rubbed at his left wrist.

"Did you hurt your wrist?" Ron asked. "Let me see."

"No," snapped Harry, dropping his arm to his side.

"I won't hurt you," Ron said slowly. "I brought you here to protect you."

"Where is here?"

"This is… this is your home."

"You're barking!"

Ron moved closer. "Harry, please."

Walking backwards to stay out of Ron's reach, Harry banged into a table, knocking over a vase, which had been a housewarming gift from Madame Maxine and Hagrid. As it hit the floor, it broke into large pieces. Ron flinched, but Harry didn't even seem to notice; he continued moving farther away from Ron.

"I – I don't know how you did this! Did you drug me? But I'm –"

Footsteps thundered on the stairs and Harry and Ron's heads swiveled abruptly toward the sound.

"What's going on down here? Ron? Ron, is that Harry?"

Adding Hermione into this chaos was going to make things worse. Ron started to think that maybe he should've thought this out, contacted her first before showing up with Harry in this state, but it was too late, Hermione stood in the entryway, wearing a dressing gown. Her hair, flat on one side and sticking out wildly on the other, showed she had just gotten out of bed.

With eyes wide and excited, her hand flew to her mouth.

"Hermione, don't –"

"Harry!" she cried over Ron's warning and, with her arms outstretched, rushed towards Harry.

"Hermione, wait! Don't!" Ron said, stepping in between her and Harry.

"What are you talking about, Ron? Get out of my way."

"Hermione, listen to me! For once, listen to me. Harry doesn't –"

Taking advantage of the diversion, Harry tried to flee. Before he could reach the door, Ron pulled out his wand and shouted, "_Locomotor Mortis_!"

Harry stood there frozen for a second before he tried to move and fell flat on his face. Ron cringed, thinking it might have been the wrong choice of a hex.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, rushing to Harry's side. Ron saw she had her wand in her hand, but before he could stop her she released Harry.

Harry jumped up and Ron could see a small trickle of blood on his bottom lip.

"You're hurt," Hermione said, reaching out to touch him.

Harry backed up, staring at her wand. "Stay away from me!"

"What? What's going on?" She looked at Ron. "Ron?"

"I tried to tell you, Hermione," Ron said, exasperated. "He doesn't know who we are."

"Ron," she waved her hand dismissively, "how could Harry not know who we are?"

As if on cue, Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Thank you, mate," Ron said sarcastically, his patience with the situation wearing thin. "Glad to see some things never change. Hermione still doesn't listen to me and you still have my back."

"Fuck you," Harry snarled and pushed past Hermione, shoving her with his shoulder to get to the door.

This time Ron used _Impedimenta_ to stop Harry with better results; Harry kept trying to run, but stayed in one place.

Ron turned to Hermione, forgetting his own pain caused by the venom in Harry's words. "You okay?"

She nodded, biting her lip, which Ron knew meant she was holding back tears. He smiled at her for both comfort and as an apology. This was, after all, partially his fault for reacting without thinking it through. Hermione smoothed down her hair and smiled back.

"How are you doing that? You did drug me!" Harry shouted, still stubbornly trying to move.

Ron moved around to stand in front of Harry. "Harry, I'll explain," Ron said. "If you promise to sit down and not run again."

"Fuck you!"

"Harry, you prat, stop being so bloody stubborn!" Ron yelled. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've done it by now!"

There was a fleeting look of acceptance in Harry's eyes, and for a moment, Ron felt triumphant; then Harry started screaming.

"_Silencio_," Hermione said from behind Harry.

Harry's eyes filled with panic, his mouth kept moving, and he clutched at his throat.

"Ron, please explain this!"

Hating that Harry was so afraid, Ron ignored Hermione and made one last plea, urging Harry to calm down. "Mate, we're not going to hurt you. I'm going to release you and I want you to sit down on the couch, so we can all talk about this rationally."

He looked at Hermione for affirmation; she nodded and raised her wand.

The second Harry was able to move his legs, he bolted for the door. Hermione stopped him.

"Fuck, Harry!" Ron cried, throwing his arms in the air. "Well, that hasn't changed! He's still a right stubborn git!"

It took some crafty maneuvering, but eventually, after they spelled him unconscious, Ron and Hermione levitated Harry to a chair and bound him magically to it.

Hermione knelt down next to Harry, who looked so young and vulnerable now that he was sedated.

"Oh, Harry," she said and dapped at the blood on his lip with a tissue she had pulled from her pocket. "What happened to you?"

"What happened to him? Isn't it obvious! His memory's been modified! Someone did this to him. They –" Ron stopped his rant as Hermione shook her head. "What? Why are you doing that?"

"This isn't magic. It would be impossible to modify his memory to this extent without completely destroying his brain. Even the most talented wizard couldn't erase fourteen years from –"

"Twenty-five years."

"Huh?"

"He didn't just forget us, he forgot _him_."

"Are you saying that Harry has amnesia?"

"I don't know what I'm saying, Hermione. He was telling all those American Muggles that his name is Harry Weasley."

Hermione remained silent for a moment. Finally, she said, "Oh."

"That's it – oh?"

"I have to talk to him." She waved her wand. "_Finite Incantatem_."

Harry's eyes, still filled with a defiance that tried to mask his fear, opened.

"Hi," Hermione said gently.

Harry glared at her.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Let me go!" he yelled as he struggled with the bindings.

"Scream all you want, Harry," Ron said. "This house is soundproof. No one can hear you scream."

"Ron, you're not helping!" Hermione said, shooting him a scathing look. "No one's going to hurt you," she added soothingly to Harry. "You have my word."

"I don't know who you are, so how can I trust your word?"

"Just tell me your name, please."

Harry nodded his head toward Ron. "He knows my name."

"Yes, I do," Ron said irritably. "It's Harry James Fucking Potter. Why don't you know your name?"

"Ron!"

Harry began struggling with his bindings again as he yelled back at Ron. "I don't know who that is! My name is Harry Fucking Weasley!"

Hermione and Ron gasped. Harry and the chair started to lift off the floor. Ron's eyes moved from the hovering chair to the floor and Harry's eyes followed, filled with panic, and promptly the chair slammed down.

"Well, that explains the magic the Ministry tracked," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He always did have problems controlling his magic when he was angry."

"Magic?" Harry shouted. "There is no such thing! Stop doing… whatever - whatever it is you're doing to me!"

Sighing and suddenly feeling exhausted as the day finally caught up with him, Ron sunk onto the sofa and rubbed his temples as Hermione interrogated Harry.

"Yes, Harry, magic. There is magic. You don't remember magic?"

"Why do you think I lost my memory?"

"Where did you go to school?"

"Scotland."

"What was the name?"

"None of your business. Why are you so concerned with my history?"

Nothing Harry said seemed to unnerve Hermione; she continued questioning him in a professional tone. "What were your parent's names?"

"None. Of. Your. Business."

"When did you leave London for America?"

"America! That's where I was when he kidnapped me!"

"Think, Harry, are you sure that you don't remember Ron?"

"For god's sake, Hermione, he doesn't remember!" Ron interjected.

"Yeah, Hermione, listen to the kidnapper."

"I'm not a kidnapper!" Ron shouted, his frustration bordering on anger.

"I don't know how you did this or where I am, but my friend Jim is a cop and…"

With one angry flick of the wrist, Ron put Harry back to sleep.

Looking solemn, Hermione sunk down on the sofa next to Ron. She pulled a leg up underneath her and sighed. "Why did you bring him back here, Ron?" she asked. Though normally she would have sounded condescending, she only sounded worried. "And who's Jim?"

It took almost an hour to explain everything that had happened in the span of one long and mentally exhausting day.

He told the story of meeting Harry's friends.

"And I reckon they're all gay!" Ron said.

"Well, um, most likely."

"You knew?"

"The travel guide said New Hope has a large gay population and is a popular travel spot for gays and lesbians."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would've acted odd if you went there knowing!"

"I wouldn't have," Ron mumbled before continuing.

It hurt retelling her how he saw Harry again and Harry looked at him like a stranger.

"He said his name was Harry Weasley and I – I was in shock! Why would he change his name to Weasley?"

Wringing her hands, Hermione shook her head. "I'm not positive, but… I have to do more research."

Ron rolled his eyes and finally got to the most important part – Jim's story.

Halfway through, Hermione stood up and started pacing.

"Ron, this is much more serious than we thought!"

"That's why I brought him back here!"

By the time he was done, the sun had risen and shone light over the three of them. The lack of sleep finally caught up with him, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and knuckled his eyes.

"This isn't good," Hermione said.

"Nope."

Ron heard her whisper, "Harry, why did you want to forget who you are?" He opened his eyes and saw her gently brush the fringe off his forehead. In the center of his stomach he felt a brief, but intense tug at the ache that had been there since he had first saw Harry. It was just so easy for women to do something so simple, yet so intimate. It was something that Ron didn't feel comfortable doing and he envied Hermione for it.

Hermione turned and looked at Ron in the same compassionate way she had just looked at Harry. "You're tired. Get some rest. I have medical journals that I want to read."

The look in her eyes told him it was futile to argue. He yawned and stretched out on the couch as she waved the curtains closed. She bent down and kissed his forehead. "We'll figure this out," she said soothingly. "Sleep well."

Ron couldn't remember the last time he had really slept well. It had been months. Months filled with disturbing dreams and hours of staring at the ceiling trying not to worry. He looked at Harry, who was confused and broken but home and alive, and allowed himself a few hours of a dreamless, deep sleep.

Bacon. The smell of it was strong and enticing enough to stir Ron from sleep.  
He opened his eyes with a yawn. Hermione was sitting in a chair next to Harry with a book in her lap and a bacon sandwich in her hand.

"Hungry," Ron said, stretching so that his legs hung over the edge of the sofa.

"There's two there for you," she said, pointing to a plate atop a pile of books.

"Loo, first."

Standing in front of the toilet, Ron smelled under his arms and decided he could use a shower, but finding out if Hermione discovered anything came first.

When he came back, Hermione was scribbling furiously in a notebook.

Ron grabbed a sandwich and sat down. "Find out anything?"

"Yes," she said, grabbing a book from the table and turning to a page marked by a long red ribbon. "This is from a Muggle book on psychiatrists: _'a dissociative fugue may be present when a person impulsively wanders or travels away from home and upon arrival in the new location is unable to remember his/her past. The individual's personal identity is lost because that person is confused about who he/she is. The travel from home generally occurs following a trauma. The person in the fugue appears to be functioning normally to other people.'"_ She took a deep breath when she was finished.

"And what does that have to do with Harry?"

"It all makes perfect sense. Don't you see?"

Ron stared at her.

"It says it right here – wandered away from home, occurs following a trauma, functioning normally…" She tapped the page. "It's all here!"

"It doesn't tell us what the trauma was or how to fix him!"

"Well, I didn't expect it to, but it tells us what Harry is suffering from."

Ron looked over at Harry, whose chin was resting on his chest. "He doesn't look comfortable."

"Mm, I keep putting his head back, but it keeps falling forward again," Hermione said.

"Stubborn git," Ron said. He stood up and, gently, he pushed Harry's head back, his fingers lingering on the hair at the nape of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione looking at him and let his hand fall to Harry's shoulder, squeezing it once before going back to sit on the sofa. "Well, how do we fix him?"

Hermione hugged the book to her chest. "It's not that easy. I'm sure this was caused by more than just the event that triggered it. It does all make sense though."

"To you," Ron grumbled.

Ignoring his interruption, she continued, "Something like this had to start in Harry's childhood. All those years in that cupboard, he must've been so lonely, isolated. He probably pretended to be someone else. Just child's play, but creating other personas was something he developed in early childhood. It was a way to hide from his horrible life. So it was easy to slip into this other person – this Harry Weasley. It's him, but not him."

The sandwich now gone, Ron reached for Hermione's pumpkin juice and finished it in three large gulps as he tried to process what she had told him. Harry was mental.

"But Harry was always so strong and everything that he went through… what could have possibly made him go insane?"

"He's not insane, Ron! And it's usually the strong ones, the ones who hold everything inside."

It was true. Harry never talked about his feelings or… Ron sighed. They were blokes. They didn't talk about their feelings. Ron didn't talk about his feelings and he wasn't hiding out thousands of miles away and calling himself Ron Potter.

"Why Weasley?" he asked.

"Well, Harry always wanted to be a part of your family."

"Then why didn't he marry Ginny? S'not like she didn't want to!"

She sighed. "I don't know."

"You still didn't answer my question," he said. "How do we fix him?"

"It's complicated. This is really, really rare, Ron. Not one of these wizarding books mentions any treatment and the Muggle ones recommend drugs and hypnosis and things that…" Her voice trailed off and she looked upset. "He's not safe here. We can't take him to a Muggle doctor. I'm afraid to even keep him here."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Everything I read said that this is only temporary and the person will eventually come out of the fugue state, but if we keep him here and try to force him to remember, it could really damage his psyche."

"Hermione…" Ron didn't like where this was heading.

"We need to get him back to where he thinks he belongs."

"No! No! He's bloody well staying right -" Ron pointed at the floor "- here!"

"Ron, don't pull one of your tantrums right now! Listen to me, please." She leaned forward, her face serious. "I always suspected… but now, I truly believe that Scrimgeour knows that Harry isn't a dark wizard and that he didn't kill Percy. They know he didn't. Something happened and he knows what and he's blaming Harry for it."

She was right. He looked at Harry, whose chin had fallen back on his chest. They couldn't keep him like this forever.

"I'm going with him," Ron said resolutely.

She shook her head.

"Stop doing that!" he snapped. "Don't argue with me. I'm not letting him out of my sight!"

"Okay," she said much to Ron's surprise.

"Okay?"

"But –"

He snorted. "I knew it."

"He has to go before you, but only for a little while. If he doesn't go back, I'm afraid his friend Jim will think that maybe you lied to him and he'll alert someone. We'll Obliviate him of everything that happened since you Portkeyed him here. And you have to find a reason to be absent from work. If you just disappear it'll cause suspicion and they'll know we found him."

It was Ron's turn to shake his head. "He can't go back alone."

"We could send someone else back with him."

"Who? It'd have to be someone we trust."

"Someone who won't be missed for a day or two."

"Someone who would do _anything_ to protect Harry."

"Someone who can be invisible and is an expert at not being seen."

They looked at each other, their eyes widened, and Ron knew they were both thinking the same thing.

She jumped up from her seat. "I'll send a message to McGonagall." With her wand out, she ran to the window, opened it, and out of the tip of her wand shot out a silvery figure of an otter.

"I'll just walk into work and quit," Ron said when she had returned and sat on the sofa with him.

"I have a better idea. You said you had an altercation with a leprechaun?"

**_TBC_**


	5. A New Fact

**The Darkest Recesses of the Heart**

**Chapter Five:_ A New Fact_**

The chimney along the outside wall rattled and Ron looked at Hermione in surprise. 

Hermione shrugged. "I thought they'd Apparate too."

"Ronald! Ronald, it's your mum. Where are you?"

"Bollocks!" Ron exclaimed. "It's that bloody clock of hers. Fat load of good it did when we were trying to find Harry." He looked down at Harry spread out on the bed and frowned. "Put a hand on for you after you went missing, mate, and it moved right to _'whereabouts unknown.'_ I've been trying to trick that clock for years. I'd love to know how you did it!"

"Ronald!"

"I'll get rid of her," he grumbled. "Stay here with him."

Hermione nodded and checked the ropes binding Harry.

The day couldn't get much worse. Not when Harry was as mad as a pack of pixies and tied up in his own bedroom that he didn't even recognize. A visit from Molly Weasley would undoubtedly test that theory.

Ron found his mum in the kitchen taking groceries out of a bag. He needed to get rid of her quickly before McGonagall showed up.

As soon as she saw Ron, she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, trapping his arms at his side. "You're home!"

Knowing that it was futile to struggle, he stood still and simply rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum, but you already knew that."

"Did you find Harry?" she asked, looking behind Ron as if she would see Harry standing there.

Ron inwardly chuckled, thinking she didn't realize how close she was to the truth.

Curious about her magical clock, Ron asked, "Wouldn't you know that already? The clock would show him being here."

"Yes, dear. I know. His hand hasn't moved. I'm sorry." She stood on the tips of her toes and he leaned down, meeting her in the middle so that she could kiss his cheek. "The next time."

The decision to lie to his mother had been a necessary one. For all of Molly Weasley's shrewdness, she wasn't that skilled of a liar, especially not to her family and certainly not when it was good news. He couldn't risk her telling someone. He trusted his immediate family; it was his extended one whom he had doubts about. Ron had never been totally convinced that Penelope, Percy's widow, believed that Harry was innocent. It was just a gut feeling, but Ron had learned from Harry's experiences to trust those instincts.

"I brought some fresh fruit and vegetables," she said, returning to the bag. "What happened to that lovely vase from Hagrid? Crookshanks?"

People who were _'know-it-alls'_ like his mum and Hermione were so often easy to lie to because they always gave you the answer.

"Yeah," he said, nodding.

"I tidied it up. I was surprised Hermione hadn't taken care of it already. By the way, where is Hermione?"

"Mum, this isn't the best time for a visit," Ron said, shoving his hands in his pocket to avoid showing any signs of nervousness.

Holding up an apple, she spun it around in her hand, ignoring him. "These apples are so red. They're sweet too. I brought them over to Ginny this morning. The baby is getting so big. You really ought to visit her more often. She's lonely with that husband of hers traveling all the time." She clucked her tongue. "I suppose Quidditch is more important than –"

"Mum! I have..." He began to fidget, shifting from foot to foot and looking uncomfortable. The plan Hermione had come up with to get him away from work might just work on his mum too. They hadn't totally executed it yet, but due to the sensitive nature of the bogus alignment, he supposed he could trick his mother without having to reveal anything. "I have this, er, problem and have to go St Mungo's."

"St Mungo's? Are you sick?" Her face filled with a mother's worry and her eyes wandered over his body, looking for outward signs of an ailment.

He scrunched up his face and scratched the seam of his jeans high up along his inner-thigh. "I arrested a leprechaun the other day and ever since then –"

Her jaw dropped as she stared at his crotch. "Oh, dear! Yes, they've been know to do that." She stepped forward, and added, "Let me see."

"Mum! No!"

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's not as if I've never seen it before."

"I don't care! Mum, stop!" he shouted as she trapped him against a wall and tried to undo his jeans.

"These rashes can be very nasty and spread quickly. They're contiguous to males, but not females. If you let me have a look, I can be sure –"

"I'm not going to let you look at my bits!" He pushed her hands away. "Gerroff!"

"Ronald Weasley!" she shouted, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm your mother! Move your hands or I'll hex those too! I changed your nappies. I washed your -"

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione, entering the room.

At first, Ron breathed a sigh of relief that Hermione was there to save him, until he realized if she was here than that meant Harry was alone.

The distraction had worked and his mum forgot about him and turned a critical eye on Hermione long enough for Ron to slip away and move to the center of the room.

"Dear, it's almost noon! What are you still doing in your dressing gown?"

Hermione looked guilty and Ron purposely kept his face expressionless.

"I… I fell asleep late. Working," Hermione responded.

"You work too much," Molly said with a sigh and a shake of her head. "Now, Ronald about that –"

"I, um, I saw it, Mrs. Weasley, and it's definitely a leprechaun hex."

The blush that flooded Hermione's neck and cheeks came close to rivaling his own.

His mum's eyebrows shot up under her fringe, but she said nothing.

"If we're all done talking about my bits," Ron said, heading for the door, "I have to get ready, so I can go to St. Mungo's for a _proper_ examination."

Ron heard Hermione whispering as he walked out of the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. We really do appreciate your visit, but… well, you know how he is after a trip like this."

Harry was exactly where he had left him. Ron sat on the bed and got comfortable, reclining back against the headboard and stretching his legs out next to Harry.

"Lots happened since you've been gone. Ginny got preggers. Mate, you should've been here when the shit hit the fan! Mum went barmy. Fred and George fed something to Oliver the morning of the wedding and his tongue was blue for a week. Of course, Ginny had to take a leave from Puddlemere, which really hurt their chances at the league cup, so some wanker wrote an article in Quidditch Weekly using her situation as an example of why women shouldn't play professional Quidditch. Hermione nearly had kittens!"

"Talking about me?" Hermione asked from the doorway.

"Just catching Harry up."

"Your mum's gone. I don't like lying to her."

Ron shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

"I need to get dressed before McGonagall arrives."

"I'll stay here and watch Harry."

"Ron, he's out cold. He won't wake up until –"

"Better get dressed, Hermione," Ron said irritably. "McGonagall will be here soon."

"Don't wake him up. The less we have to Obliviate –"

"Yes, Hermione!" Ron rolled his eyes at her unnecessary warning.

Her dressing gown twirled out as she turned and left Ron alone with Harry again.

Leaning down towards Harry, Ron whispered, "And she's still mental, mate. But she misses you." He moved back against the headboard, closed his eyes, and sighed. "Me too."

Hermione convinced Ron to change his clothes and meet her downstairs, insisting that Harry would be fine. The hot water of the shower felt good against his tense muscles. After washing, he let the spray beat down on his shoulders as he rolled his neck around. It helped ease a bit of his physical discomfort, but did nothing for the feeling of helplessness. For ten months, he'd believed everything would be all right when they found Harry, but it wasn't. It was worse. Harry was here, in the same house, but Ron missed him even more than he did before.

Dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a jumper, he joined Hermione in the sitting room to wait for McGonagall. Ron reached for one of the medical journals. As he wrapped his fingers around it, there was a knock on the door. He quickly dropped the book and ran to the door. Hermione beat him there and he stood closely behind her as she opened the door. Professor McGonagall stood on the other side, looking concerned. _Fuck! Something went wrong._

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said before Ron or Hermione had a chance to greet her. "It seems that…" She moved to the side and looked behind her. Clucking her tongue, she whirled around and pushed what appeared to be a box with skinny legs, covered mostly by bright purple socks. "It seems that Dobby may be of more assistance than we thought."

"Hi, Dobby," Hermione said and opened the door wide.

With McGonagall's hand on his shoulder, guiding him, Dobby walked slowly forward, holding onto the box tightly.

"I'll help you with that," Ron said. The moment his hands touched the box a searing shock of heat spread through his hands and arms and he quickly withdrew.

"Dobby!" screeched Professor McGonagall. "Let Ron take the box."

The tall ears sticking out the top of the box quivered. "No, Headmistress, Dobby must not let anyone else have the box."

"Dobby," said Hermione soothingly. "You can put the box down at least, can't you?"

Slowly, Dobby lowered the box, revealing his humongous green eyes that were focused on Ron. "Dobby is sorry, sir. He didn't mean to hurt Harry Potter's Wheezy."

"S'okay, Dobby. Hermione's right, you can put the box down. We all promise not to touch it."

Dobby nodded and placed the box on the floor, still looking unsure and eyeing Hermione suspiciously. Once the box was on the floor, Dobby sat on the top of it and tugged nervously at the hem of his oversized yellow sweater.

McGonagall removed her cloak and Hermione hung it on a hook by the door.

"He's safe?" she asked. Ron and Hermione nodded and McGonagall smiled. "You can explain later after we talk to Dobby. It appears this box has something to do with Harry. Once I told Dobby we needed him to help Harry, Dobby disappeared and came back with this box. The only thing he would tell me is that he had to return it to Harry."

Crouching down to Dobby's level, Ron asked, "What's in the box?"

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter's Wheezy, but he promised, sir. Dobby promised Harry Potter and he can't break his promise to Harry Potter. No, sir."

"Dobby, this is very important," said Hermione. "You know that Harry's in trouble and if you know anything you must tell us."

Dobby shook his tiny head. "Dobby can't, miss. Dobby can't!"

"Dobby, Harry's not your master," Ron said, trying to rationalize the situation using house-elf logic. "And it's not as if you haven't done things you weren't supposed to do when it comes to helping Harry."

"Yes, sir, but Dobby had to punish himself for being a bad house-elf."

"Whatever you have to do," said Ron bluntly.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

"Okay! Dobby, don't punish yourself, yeah." He shot Hermione a look that told her to back off. The elf never did trust Hermione after she had upset and offended the Hogwarts' house-elves by trying to free them. "I'm Harry's Wheezy, right?"

Dobby answered with a slow nod.

"I would never do anything to hurt Harry. You know that."

Again, Dobby nodded.

"Harry's in trouble, Dobby."

"Dobby knows, sir. Dobby hears talk. The Minister of Magic says that Harry Potter is a Dark wizard. Dobby told Harry Potter, sir, he told him that Dobby would hex the Minister of Magic for blasphemy against Harry Potter!"

"You… you told Harry?" Ron reached out and grabbed the elf's tiny wrist. "But Harry's been missing since the Minister… Dobby, did you see Harry before he went away?"

"Sir, Dobby can't lie! Please don't ask Dobby that again."

"You did!" Hermione exclaimed. "You saw him!"

"Dobby…" Professor McGonagall said threateningly. "Dobby, tell Ron what you know about Harry. This is very important."

Dobby's eyes filled up and his bottom lip shook. "Harry Potter didn't run away because of Dobby. Dobby took good care of Harry Potter. He fed him and gave him clothes like Harry Potter and his Wheezy did for Dobby."

"We know," said Ron gently. "You always took good care of Harry. Now, it's up to you to take care of him some more and tell us what happened."

Shaking his head, Dobby looked over at Hermione and McGonagall. Ron stood up and approached the women, smiling with all the charm that he could muster.

"Hermione, why don't you take Professor McGonagall upstairs to see our visitor and update her on what happened, while I try to talk some sense into Dobby?"

Hermione frowned. "You're not going to let him abuse himself, are you?"

"I promise." Ron lowered his voice. "Don't take it personally. Dobby trusts me because he knows Harry trusts me."

"Harry trusts me too," said Hermione, pouting slightly.

"Yes, he does, dear," McGonagall said consolingly.

"We all know Dobby's a few pawns short of a chess set. I'll deal with him."

Grudgingly, Hermione led Professor McGonagall up the steps, looking back over her shoulder every few steps.

Dealing with a reluctant witness took skill. You had to assess what would motivate them to talk. Was it the use of force? Was it feigning empathy for their situation? In this case, Ron was sure this situation would require bonding with Dobby, using the one thing they had in common – their unwavering loyalty to Harry.

Ron went back to Dobby and sat at his feet.

"It's just us now, Dobby. They don't understand how important Harry's secrets are."

"No, sir. Harry Potter trusts his Wheezy."

"Exactly! Remember when you helped Harry save me from the Merepeople?"

"Dobby does, sir."

"Did I ever thank you for that?"

Sheepishly, Dobby shook his head. "Dobby doesn't require a thank you, sir."

"Yes, I think you do, Dobby. And it's long over due." Ron pulled off his trainers and took off his socks. He handed them to Dobby and said, "Thank you, Dobby."

Dobby took the socks and clutched them to his chest. "Harry Potter's Wheezy is kind and generous and noble, just like Harry Potter!"

Ron frowned and bowed his head.

"What is wrong, sir?"

"I'm sad, Dobby. I don't understand why Harry would leave me without saying good-bye."

"Wheezy, sir, Harry Potter was sad too. Very sad that he was away from his Wheezy!"

Ron looked up, feeling emotions that were real and not put on for Dobby's benefit. "You know this because Harry was with you before he disappeared?"

"Yes. Harry Potter did come to see Dobby, but Dobby doesn't know why he left. Dobby was taking good care of Harry Potter."

"Thank you for taking care of Harry," Ron said sincerely. "I want to take good care of Harry too, but I need to understand a few things first. I don't know why Harry left or why those dreadful people think that he is a Dark wizard. You can help me and Harry, Dobby. Do you want to help up us?"

"Of course, sir! Dobby will do anything to help Harry Potter and his Wheezy!"

"Good." Ron scooted closer on the floor and looked over his shoulder, pretending to be checking that they were alone. "Then tell me, when did Harry come to see you?"

"It was January third, sir. Dobby remembers because the students returned to Hogwarts that day for the second term."

That was the last day Ron saw him too. Harry had visited Hagrid and they all had thought Hagrid was the last person to see him.

"What did he say?"

"Harry Potter asked Dobby if he could stay with him at Hogwarts," Dobby said proudly. "He told Dobby not to tell anyone, even you, his Wheezy. Dobby was happy, sir. Very happy that Harry Potter let Dobby take care of him. Dobby let Harry Potter sleep in his room and he brought him food."

Ron scrubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Did he say why he was hiding there?"

"No, sir, he didn't say why and Dobby didn't ask."

"How long did you take care of Harry?"

"Two days! Harry Potter didn't leave because of Dobby. Dobby brought him the best food and clean robes from the laundry. Harry Potter left because he was sad about the death of his Wheezy's brother." Dobby's lips began to quiver again. "Dobby is sorry about that too, sir."

"Thank you, Dobby," Ron said with a warm smile. "How did Harry find out about my brother?"

"Dobby told him. I hears things, sir, and told Harry Potter." Dobby clenched his small hands into fists. "That is when Dobby said he would hex the Minister for lying about Harry Potter!"

"I know you would." Ron pointed at the box. "Why did you bring that here?"

"Dobby has to give Harry Potter back his wand and his special things."

Ron gaped at the elf. "You have Harry's wand?"

"Yes, sir. Harry Potter left – not because of Dobby's care. Dobby woke up the next day to bring Harry Potter his breakfast, but he was gone, sir. Dobby waited days for him to come back. When he didn't, Dobby packed up his things and took good care of them. He made sure no one touched them."

It was a lot to process. Ron stood up and ran his hands through his hair. After discovering Harry had this amnesia problem, it had been stupid not to consider what happened to Harry's wand. The one thing he had assumed was that Harry had left because of the amnesia, but now Dobby was telling him that Harry was hiding before he forgot everything.

"Dobby, did Harry leave Hogwarts at all while you were taking care –"

"Good care, sir."

"Right. Good care of him?"

Dobby nodded. "Only once, sir. The day after he found out about his Wheezy's brother. He didn't tell Dobby where he was going."

Ron sat silent for a moment, thinking of a way to explain Harry's current state to Dobby without sending Dobby into a state of panic.

"Dobby, Harry really needs you right now. We found him, but he's confused."

"Confused, sir?"

"Yes. Harry doesn't know that he's Harry. Well, he thinks he's a Harry, but not the Harry Potter. I found Harry living in America and he didn't recognize me. Doesn't know who I am."

Dobby's eyes widened and he gasped. "Harry Potter doesn't know his Wheezy?"

Glumly, Ron shook his head. Something about the elf's devotion to Harry made Ron even sadder about the situation. So many people cared for Harry. Cared enough that they would risk their lives for him, and Harry had forgotten about them all.

"Yes, Dobby, that's right. Harry can't remember anything about me or Hermione or Hogwarts or anything about his life. Not even Dobby."

Nodding his head frantically, Dobby said, "Dobby has seen that, sir. Yes, Dobby knew a house-elf who punished himself by throwing himself down the stairs! He hit his head hard, sir, and when he woke up he couldn't remember his name! Did Harry Potter hit his head?"

"We don't know, but he's here with us and –"

Dobby jumped off the box. Shaking with excitement, he twisted his head from side to side. "Harry Potter is here! Dobby can give him his wand back, sir!"

"No, Dobby," Ron said, putting his hands on Dobby's shoulder to steady him. "Harry doesn't remember that he is a wizard. You need to give me Harry's things, so I can take care of them while you take care of Harry for awhile."

"Dobby is taking care of Harry Potter again?" Dobby asked, his smile now totally out of control.

"Yes," Ron replied, nodding firmly to assure the elf. "But you can't bring Harry's things with you. So, will you let me have them?"

Ron brought Dobby to the others and pulled Hermione out of Harry's room and into his. He quickly updated her on Harry's brief visit to Hogwarts. 

"Ron!" Hermione cried. "This proves that Harry didn't kill Percy!"

"What?"

"If Harry was with Dobby the whole time, than he couldn't have killed Percy."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. "I already knew that."

"Well, you believed that, Ron, but you didn't have proof."

Astounded, Ron pointed at his chest. "_I_ didn't need proof!"

"Neither did I!" Hermione replied huffily, staring back at him. "I'm just saying that now we have facts to prove what we believe!"

"Prove to who? No one's going to believe a house-elf!"

"No, but…"

"But it doesn't mean anything except Harry planned on leaving us, Hermione! It has nothing to do with him amnesia. He took his things and he left!"

Hermione ignored Ron's outburst and went over to the box that Dobby had relinquished into Ron's care. Carefully, she opened it, took out Harry's wand and handed it to Ron.

It was frightening to think that all this time Harry was out in the world alone with nothing to protect himself. Ron held the wand tightly as he watched Hermione take out the next item.

"His Invisibility Cloak!" she exclaimed as she unfolded it and laid it on the bed.

"I thought it was in his vault," Ron said, reaching over to glide his fingers over the strange material.

"Me, too." Hermione reached in the box and pulled out a faded t-shirt that had once been bright orange. Biting her lip, she handed it to Ron.

"I thought…" He held it over his chest and touched the Chudley Cannons logo. "I thought I'd lost this."

One by one they pulled out Harry's treasures: the photo album of his parents, his Gryffindor tie, the snitch from his final game at Hogwarts and various pictures of Harry with Hermione and Ron.

"Ron, he didn't want to leave." She put her hand on his arm. "He had to. I don't know why, but he had to."

Ron didn't answer. He folded the Invisibility Cloak and put Harry's wand on top.

"You found him, Ron. You never gave up. Don't give up now."

"Who said anything about giving up?" he asked, mystified. He pulled a clean pair of socks from his suitcase and sat on the bed to put them on. "I'm going to be there the second he snaps out of this."

"About that…" said Hermione, looking concerned. "The medical books said that when Harry leaves the fugue state he won't remember anything about what he did while he was in it."

"Nothing?"

"Maybe, eventually, but no, not right away."

"Fucking nutter," Ron muttered.

He took a long, deep breath. It was time to Obliviate Harry and send him back before someone realized that he was missing.

_TBC_


	6. A New Lifestyle

b **A New Lifestyle** /b

Messing with someone's mind, even under normal circumstances, had always seemed risky to Ron, and Harry's situation was certainly not normal. It took a lot of convincing from Hermione and stern reassurance from Professor McGonagall ("I've been doing it long before you were born, Mr Weasley") before Ron relented and stepped away, letting McGonagall raise her wand and point it at Harry.

Hedwig and Dobby didn't make it any easier. Hedwig, who had sensed her master's presence, flew into the bedroom and perched herself on the headboard above Harry's head, keeping her eyes fixed on Ron. Her relentless staring asked, "Do you approve of this?" Dobby stood in the corner, wringing his hands and rocking on the balls of his feet. His nervousness seemed to fill the room and seep into Ron, twisting his insides into one massive knot.

Without a word, Ron slipped out of the room into the hall. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and drank in long drags of air into his nose, puffing it out through his mouth.

"Fuck!" Ron cried when the pressure building up in his chest became almost unbearable.

"Ron?"

Ron opened his eyes and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, looking worried.

"I'm fine," he said quickly.

"Oh… well, I was just going to tell you that they're ready to leave. Do you want to…?"

Ron shook his head. _'I can't do it. I can't watch him leave!' _ Ron tapped his forehead to stay focused and quiet the voice in his head. "We've made it clear to Dobby what he needs to do."

"I'll stay here with –"

"No. Stay with him. I'll be in the kitchen."

There was something about their kitchen that had comforted Ron since Harry disappeared. It reminded him of everything they had wanted in their home. It was small, but it had a large fireplace and lots of windows. "Warm and cosy," Harry had said when Hermione asked him what he wanted. She had been looking for specifics, whipping out paint samples and complicated-looking blueprints. When she mentioned something about the resale value of the house, Harry looked appalled. "Sell? Why would I ever do that? This is our home."

Ron rubbed the back of his head as he stirred sugar into his coffee. Since he had walked into the kitchen, he had an odd feeling in his brain, like an itch that he couldn't scratch.

A cup of coffee later, Hermione and McGonagall had joined him. McGonagall passed behind him and patted his back before sitting down next to him.

"Sorry we took so long," Hermione said as she poured the last of the coffee into two mugs. "Professor McGonagall had an idea."

"I wrote a letter to the closest American Ministry informing them that I've sent a house-elf to live with my elderly aunt who is a squib and needs some assistance due to failing health."

Ron smiled proudly at her. "Brilliant, Professor."

"I have my moments," she said with a small smile. "Dobby will see that it's delivered. But you can't let it get out of hand. Be sure to use only simple spells that a house-elf would use in the course of the day. If you need to do anything more complex in an emergency, it will probably go unnoticed."

"Thank you. That'll help," Ron said, feeling cheerful about something for the first time all day.

The staff at St Mungo's knew Ron well from his frequent career-related injuries. This made it easy to fool them into believing his rash was the result of a confrontation with a leprechaun and not self-inflicted using Bulbadox Powder slightly modified by Hermione.

William Freeman, a Healer who had treated Ron for several hexes in the past, looked briefly at Ron's rash, heard the word leprechaun, and fled the room.

As soon as Ron was alone, he shoved a hand under his trousers and pants to scratch roughly over a particularly nasty patch under his balls, wrenching it out quickly when Healer Humphreys approached his bed, clearing her throat. She gave him a stern look before informing him that they had dispatched a team to sterilize the Magical Law Enforcement department and there was nothing they could do except let the jinx run its course.

"Could take weeks," she said, handing him a large brown bottle. "Apply this powder three times a day. It'll take the edge off the itch."

Ron scratched his belly button and the Healer smacked his hand away. "That'll make it spread faster. Have Miss Granger stop by and pick up more powder when you need it."

"I can go?" asked Ron.

She pushed a lock of wiry grey hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. "Nothing we can do for you here and you have our male staff in a panic."

Hermione was waiting for him with the antidote in her hand as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace. He finished it a single gulp and handed her back the bottle; she immediately replaced his empty hand with a note from his superior, wishing him well and telling him not to worry about his cases that had been reassigned.

"S'all good," Ron said. "Where's my suitcase?"

"Ron, you need sleep," Hermione said, frowning.

"I'm fine."

"You are now, but you won't be if you don't sleep and eat. Harry's fine. Dobby's there."

"And he's unstable. Loyal and faithful, but a complete nutter."

"At least eat something!"

"I'll eat something when I get there." Ron took a step to the side and Hermione did the same, blocking his path. "Hermione, I need to get back in time to go out with Harry and his friends tonight."

"It's only noon there. You have loads of time."

"I need to find a place to live while I stay and watch over Harry. I have to leave the room tomorrow."

"You're going to make yourself ill if you don't eat a decent meal and sleep!"

Ron was only too aware that they could be here all night fighting. Truthfully, Ron really didn't have the energy for it. "I'll eat here and promise when I go back I'll have a nap."

She eyed him suspiciously and crossed her arms over her chest.

"That's all you're getting, Hermione," Ron said, mimicking her actions and staring back defiantly.

"Fine. Your mum brought over stew. I'll heat it up." She turned in a huff. "Your suitcase is in your room," she called out over her shoulder before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Ron found his suitcase on his bed next to the box that Dobby had brought them. He opened the lid and took out Harry's wand, the invisibility cloak, his Cannons' t-shirt, and the photo album and began placing them in his suitcase.

Before packing the album, he stopped to flip through the pages. Somewhere around the middle of the album, Ron found an envelope and quickly dropped the book. He turned the envelope over and saw Percy's handwriting scrawled across the front.

Ron opened the envelope and read the letter.

_H,_

_I have information for you. Meet me at the same place as last time. Be cautious that no one follows you._

_P_

Quickly Ron closed his suitcase, grabbed it, and ran downstairs into the kitchen, waving the letter at Hermione.

"Look… look at this!"

Hermione grabbed the letter and read it.

"It's obviously from Percy," she said.

"That's his handwriting. Mum made us write lines when we were kids and she caught us fighting. Percy and I fought loads. I'd know his writing anywhere."

Looking tired, Hermione sighed as she put the bowls of stew on the table. "It's just another piece of the puzzle that we can't solve without Harry."

"A big piece though, isn't it? Harry and Percy were…" Ron's voice trailed off. He didn't know what they were doing together. Harry and Percy weren't friends. Percy had barely patched up his relationship with his family, let alone Harry.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Ron shifted around the pieces of the puzzle in his mind, adding the newest piece. Harry and Percy were meeting in secret and exchanging information. Ron didn't even bother going over the Auror cases they had been working on when Harry disappeared. Now that he knew that Scrimgeour was a part of this, it would be futile. The Minister was smart, an ex-Auror himself. He would've destroyed anything physical if it linked him to this mysterious information.

"Tell me more about Harry's friends," Hermione said suddenly, pulling Ron out of his thoughts.

Ron shrugged. "I told you most of what I know."

"Are they nice?"

"I reckon, yeah."

"Before you brought him back, did he look happy?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. But he looked…" Ron searched for the word. "Empty."

"Empty?"

"I dunno what I mean. He just didn't have that…"

"Spark?"

"Yeah. That Harry spark. It was like looking at pictures of his dad. It looks like Harry, but it's not him."

She laughed and he raised his eyebrows. "He certainly had a spark while he was here."

Ron chuckled, remembering Harry's reaction to being kidnapped. "You could say that."

More seriously, Hermione said, "You have to calm down and stay focused when you deal with him, Ron. You lose your temper too easily when it comes to Harry."

"I don't!"

"You do. You're the expert at dealing with people. I've seen you. Look what you did with Dobby. But when it comes to Harry, you let your emotions take control."

It was something about the word emotions that made Ron nervous and stammer. "I-I don-don't! He's just a stubborn git!"

"You do. You have to be sensitive with him. And when he comes out of this fugue state, don't press him to remember things. Don't push him too hard. He's going to be very fragile."

Ron snorted; "fragile" was not a word he would ever use to describe Harry.

"Right, Hermione, whatever you say."

"Ron –"

"Well, I'd better get going," he said, standing.

"Ron –" she said and there was a desperate tone in her voice that made stop and kiss her on top of her head.

"I'll take care of him, Hermione. We'll both be home before you know it and it'll be just like it was before."

Once back in New Hope, Ron set his watch back to the local time, five-forty, and patted the pocket of his jeans to make sure that his shrunken suitcase hadn't fallen out of his pocket during the trip.

He walked briskly through town, preparing an excuse for where he was all day, but found that he didn't need one as he entered Nobody's and saw someone that wasn't Marty sitting at the front desk.

Back in his room, he found a note on the floor just inside his door.

_Ron,_

_A few of us will be meeting in the lobby at 7 for dinner and some cheap drinks here at the bar before we head over to Fusion. Fusion's the place to be on Saturday nights, so be sure to wear something delicious._

_Hope to see you there,_

_Marty_

Ron shook his head, unsure what 'something delicious' meant. He was nervous enough about finding somewhere to live and now he had to worry that he wouldn't blend in if he didn't look delicious.

It took over an hour for Ron to take a shower and decide what to wear. When he was finally satisfied with a pair of black trousers and a grey v-necked sweater that Hermione had instructed him to be sure to wear a white t-shirt under, he left the room and headed for the lobby.

Marty, Andy, and Scott were in the lobby, sitting by the fire with drinks in their hands. Ron waved and joined them.

"Hi ya, Ron. Go sightseeing today?" Andy asked as Marty eyed Ron from head to toe.

"Is this okay?" Ron asked by way of a non-answer, waving his hand over the front of him.

All three men nodded. "Delicious," Marty said. He jumped up quickly and Ron took a step back. "I'll get you a beer. Fosters, right?"

Ron nodded and sat down, feeling elated that he avoided the question regarding what he had done today.

"We're just waiting for Shawn," Andy said.

"What about Jim and Harry?" Ron asked.

"Jim's shift doesn't end until eight and Harry said he's taking a nap and'll join us later," Scott replied.

Ron nodded and tried not to look too disappointed. He reminded himself not to panic. Dobby was with Harry until he saw him with Ron, and then he would return to England and leave Harry in Ron's care.

Marty returned and a few minutes later Shawn showed up, wearing dark pink leather pants and a tight black t-shirt. His blond spiky hair looking like the tips had been dipped in pink Easter egg dye.

"Nice hair, Shawny-boy," Andy said as they all stood and made their way into the dining room.

Dinner was good and Ron had to admit that the men were funny and interesting. His laughter echoed through the room as Shawn recounted a run-in with an ex-boyfriend at the salon.

"So, there I was waiting for Jason to wax my brows and –"

"You get your eyebrows waxed?" Ron asked, half-laughing.

"Not all of us can carry off the manly look like you, Ron," Shawn said, swooning and batting his eyelashes that Ron suspected had a touch of mascara on them.

After they sorted out the bill, they headed to the parking lot.

"We'll take Mike's car. It's big enough for all of us," Marty said, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket.

"Who's Mike?" Ron asked.

"Mike's a friend. He's staying in Boston for awhile," Andy replied.

"Baaaadddd break-up," Shawn said, linking his arm through Ron's. "Mike and Michael were i the /i golden couple, until Michael met a sweet young thing with a bubble butt and the most gorgeous blue eyes – not as gorgeous as yours though, Ronnie."

"So, Mike took an assignment with his company in Boston," Marty said. "They gave him a company car and set him up in an apartment. Left his car here for me to use, as long as I look after his cat."

Shawn led Ron to a large black 4x4 and, after Ron heard a beep, Shawn let go of Ron, opened the door and jumped in the front next to Marty. Ron climbed in the back with Andy and Scott. As they drove away, Ron hid a yawn behind his hand and wondered how long it would take for Harry to show up.

It was hard to have a decent conversation over the booming music that rattled Ron's ribcage, so Ron leaned against the bar and searched through the swarm of people for Harry as he kept insisting to Shawn that he did i not /i dance under any circumstances.

Jim showed up, but no Harry. Ron waited for Jim to say his hellos to his friends before approaching him.

"I have a favour to ask," Ron said.

"Drink first," Jim said, leaning over the bar. The bartender approached him with a brown bottle of beer and took money from the pile of bills that the group had thrown on the bar.

After a long swig of his beer, Jim turned to Ron. "Tough shift. Car accident. Two mini-vans both filled with kids." Jim shook his head. "No DoAs, but a few are in ICU."

Ron nodded. He wasn't really sure what all of it meant, but it was clear by the sound in Jim's voice that it was something someone didn't want to see. That he could relate to.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I need somewhere to stay. I talked to a friend of mine and we agreed that Harry shouldn't be left alone."

"Does this friend have any idea what's wrong with him?"

"Yeah. She thinks that it is some sort of amnesia. A fugue state, she called it. The thing is if he remembers the other stuff, he'll forget all this stuff."

"Huh? You're not making much sense."

"He'll remember…" Ron looked around to make sure that no one was listening. "He'll remember Harry Potter, but not Harry Weasley."

"That's fucked up."

"Yep."

Jim tapped the bottle with his index finger, clearly thinking. "You could stay with me… or… Mike's house would be perfect. He lives a few houses down from Harry and he's –"

"In Boston," Ron interrupted. "I heard the whole story."

"I'll give him a call tomorrow. I don't think he'll mind. Personally, I don't think he's coming back. Michael's been flaunting his new relationship all around town. I'm sure word has gotten back to him."

"Tell him that I have a cat too," Ron said.

Jim laughed. "Mike hates that fucking cat, but, yeah, I'll tell him."

"Thanks, mate."

The bartender came over with beers for both of them and Jim struck up a conversation with Andy. Ron listened the best that he could, but soon he stopped paying attention and just focused on waiting for Harry. He didn't know if it was because he was tired or if the drinks that Shawn kept bringing him had more alcohol than mixer, but after an hour, Ron began to feel light-headed and started to notice his grip slipping on the never-ending battle with Shawn.

"Just one song, Ronnie!" Shawn insisted. "The dance floor is so crowded you don't have to really dance. Just sort of stand there and move your hips!"

Shawn demonstrated what he meant by swaying his hips slowly back and forth.

"If I go out there with you," Ron gestured towards the dance floor filled with all men, "for one song, you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night?"

Shawn nodded enthusiastically and bounced off towards the dance floor. Ron followed, rolling his eyes at Andy, Scott, and Marty, who were laughing as he walked by.

It was hard to find an opening on the dance floor, so Shawn grabbed Ron's hand and led him through the crowd towards the wall in the back that was lined with mirrors.

The current song merged with another until a new song with a more upbeat tempo filled the room. Shawn twirled around in front of Ron and when he stopped, he grabbed Ron's hips and urged him to begin to move.

Ron felt silly, standing there not moving anything except his hips with this man in pink leather pants and matching hair. It didn't escape his notice either that there were several men nearby who were looking at him, with an interest that made Ron even more uncomfortable.

"You're doing great, Ronnie!" Shawn exclaimed.

Unexpectedly, Shawn turned around and began to shamelessly rub his arse against the front of Ron. Before Ron could protest, Shawn pulled away and began waving to a patch of dancers off to the right. "Look, there's Harry!"

Ron followed Shawn's hand and saw Harry in the crowd, dancing very closely with another bloke.

_'Maybe he's just being polite, like I am,'_ Ron thought.

That thought was quickly squelched when the stranger began rubbing his groin against Harry's leg. Harry smiled a wanton smile that made Ron's heart stop, wrapped his arms around the man's waist, and began snogging him.

"Oh!" Shawn clapped. "Wait until I tell Marty that Harry's hooking up with…"

Ron never heard who exactly Harry was hooking up with, because suddenly the light-headed feeling turned into full on dizziness, his legs buckled, and the world around him went black.

_**TBC**_


	7. A New Pet

**A New Pet**

"This is no time to play games, Shawn! Now tell me the truth - did you slip something into his drink?"

"I said no! I like Ronnie. I wouldn't do that."

"You like him… yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."

Through the dense blackness, Ron began to see tiny pinpricks of light and his limbs tingled. The distant voices that he had first thought were in his head began to grow louder.

"Everyone back up!" He recognized Jim's voice. "Then what happened?"

"I don't know! We were just dancing and he fainted."

Everything came rushing back to Ron, where he was, who he was with, what Harry had been doing. He tried to lift his head and open his eyes at the same time, resulting in another dizzy spell and his head banged back onto the floor.

"Ron – Ron, are you okay?"

Ron opened his eyes and saw his new friends kneeling around him looking worried and beyond them a sea of faces, looking on curiously.

"Fine. Just felt dizzy." He sat up and rested on his elbows. He spotted Harry standing at the edge of the crowd. Their eyes met briefly before Ron looked away.

"Ah…" Jim said knowingly. The group, including Ron, turned to look at him. "Jet lag finally caught up with him." Jim grabbed Ron's bicep firmly and helped him to his feet. "Let's get you out of here."

"I'll get our coats," Marty said. He looked worried and Ron felt guilty for ruining their night.

"Don't worry about me," Ron said, standing up straight and tying to look normal though his head felt hollow and his legs weak. "You stay. I'll just go back to the inn and get some rest."

A tall muscular bald man, wearing a bright yellow shirt with _Staff_ written across the chest in glittery black letters, broke through the crowd. Jim immediately addressed him in a deep authoritative voice. "No problems here, Joe. He's fine."

Joe nodded and turned toward the crowd. "Nothing to see here, ladies," he shouted, waving at them to back away. "Go back to doing whatever it is you all do in a crowd of hot sweaty men."

A new song blasted through the club. Shawn squealed, threw his arms up in the air, and began to sway to the music. "I love this song! Hope you feel better, Ronnie!" he shouted over the music and pranced off into the crowd.

"You okay to walk?" Jim asked.

Ron nodded and with Jim holding his arm, began to walk.

As they approached Harry, Ron felt himself blushing, embarrassed at having caused a scene. When they passed him, he reached out and grabbed Jim's forearm. "Do you need help?"

"No," Jim said. "I'll take him back to Nobody's."

A man who Ron recognised as the one who was recently attached to Harry's face, stepped forward and threw his arm around Harry's shoulders. The blood drained from Ron's head and he pulled sideways, feeling wobbly again. Jim quickly tightened his grip on Ron's arm and pulled him away from Harry.

Jim continued steering Ron through the crowd of dancers and by the time they reached the end of the dance floor, Ron felt better and shook off Jim's hold. "I'm fine. I don't have to leave."

"I think you do," Jim said sternly. "Looks to me like you just took a huge blow to the gut."

"You and my friend Hermione would get along well. You're both know-it-alls!"

"Ron, if you pass out again, I'm taking you to a hospital. You and I both know that you want to keep your visit here quiet. So… it's up to you."

"Fine. Let's go."

Ron followed Jim towards the door where Marty was waiting for them with their coats. They said good-bye and Marty promised to wake Ron in the morning before check-out.

The cold air felt refreshing and Ron took in a few deep breathes as they stepped out into the night. Jim pointed towards a dark blue sedan with tinted windows and they walked towards it in silence.

Ron approached the left side of the car until Jim chuckled and poked him on the shoulder. "Wrong side."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Ron moved to the other side of the car and got in, bumping his knees on the dashboard.

"Here, let me move that back for you." Jim reached between Ron's legs and Ron jumped. "Just fixing the seat, Ron. Don't worry. I'm not going to molest you," he said bitterly.

As his seat quickly slid back, Ron shook his head at his stupidity. "I didn't mean to… I'm not…"

"A homophobe?"

"No! I –"

"Did you know that Harry's gay?"

"Of course… I…" Ron swallowed. "No," he said in a small voice.

Jim grunted and fell silent.

Ron's eyes drifted out the side window and he watched them drive out into the quiet dark street. The club was far away from the centre of town and the only thing to look at were rows of trees, their leaves of red, gold, and orange shimmering in the headlights of the car.

The image of Harry kissing a bloke suddenly infested Ron's mind. He shut his eyes tight, trying to push the image out of his head and feeling guilty for being so affected by it. He wasn't a homophobe. He had even imagined himself kissing a bloke once or twice. He hadn't considered those thoughts gay per se. Who wouldn't imagine themselves kissing Oliver Wood or Krum after a particularly gruelling match? Or even Harry when he got into that dark and brooding mood that just begged for someone to kiss him or when he laughed that genuine laugh that lit up his eyes?

Hadn't he thought about kissing Hermione often too? So he couldn't be gay. Yet, at that moment, he couldn't recall the last time he had thought about her in that way, but he could pinpoint the exact moment that he had last thought about snogging Harry.

It had been a few days before Harry left and he was taking the piss out of Ron. It was just good-natured joking, so insignificant that Ron couldn't remember what it was about. What he did remember was the way Harry was looking at him with his head slightly tilted, his eyes dancing with amusement, and a dazzling grin spread across his face. Ron rubbed the centre of his chest, wishing that his heart didn't beat so intensely at the memory of it.

A horrifying thought entered Ron's mind and he turned to Jim.

"That bloke Harry was dancing with. Is that his -"

"His nobody." Jim drummed the fingers of his right hand on the steering wheel. "He normally doesn't hook up with guys like that. I guess he was just foolin' around – having some fun."

"He's, uh… so he's hooked up before, then?"

"Not often. There've been a few. He dated someone for a month, but it ended. He's not a whore or anything. No back room antics."

"What d'you mean?"

"There's a back room at Fusion. Guys go back there for a quick blowjob or a fuck. Harry's _not_ that type."

"That's good to know," Ron said sarcastically. Suddenly, feeling an even greater distance from Harry, Ron began to get angry. This was just another thing that Harry had been hiding from him. He couldn't help but question if he ever really knew Harry at all, which led him to wondering if Harry had been with blokes back in London and who they could've been.

Jim made another turn and Ron recognised the street and knew they were getting close to the inn.

"Does your friend think you being here will trigger Harry's memory?"

"It might, I reckon," Ron said.

"It sounds to me like Harry was running from more than just his trouble with the law."

Ron narrowed his eyes and glared at Jim. "What are you implying?"

Jim looked at Ron as he stopped the car in front of Nobody's. "I just don't know if Harry remembering this life of his is such a good thing because it seems to me that he must've not been all that happy if he wanted to forget."

"Listen, mate, I know you _think_ that you know Harry, but you don't. Harry was happy. He had – _has_ a home and a life back in England with me and –" Jim stared back at him with a smug look and before Ron punched his only ally on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, he got out of the car and sprinted towards the inn.

Ron stirred and groaned when the light streaming in through the open curtains hit his eyes.

"Bugger," he mumbled and pulled his sore body out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom.

Every inch of his body ached. Even his eyelids hurt when he blinked. He knew he couldn't have slept more than a few hours. After he had stormed out of Jim's car, he'd grabbed the invisibility cloak and sat outside Harry's house waiting for him to come home. Four hours later, Harry had shown up all alone. Satisfied, though exhausted and freezing, Ron finally went back to his room and fell asleep still fully dressed.

As he stood in the bathroom, waves of shivers began to roll over him. He finished quickly, jumped back in the bed, and burrowed under the covers.

He had just drifted back to sleep when he heard a knock at the door. He ignored it, assuming that it was only Marty checking up on him. The knocking got louder and more insistent. He remembered that Marty worked at the inn and could easily let himself in.

He grabbed his wand from under the pillows, shoved it in the waistband of his pants, and scanned the room to make sure that everything magical was packed away in his suitcase.

Ron opened the door to see Marty smiling brightly and holding a tray full of enough food for three people. "Morning, Red. Breakfast?"

"Great, yeah, thanks."

"If you don't mind me saying…" Marty began as he slid past Ron and put the tray on the nightstand next to the bed. "You look like shit."

"Um…" Ron looked in the mirror above the dresser. Marty was right. He did look like shit and he felt like a troll had knocked him around the room a few times. "Yeah. I think I might be coming down with something. Dunno."

Marty reached over and held the back of his hand to Ron's forehead. "Red, you're burning up!" Marty dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out an envelope. "This is from Jim. I'll just go ahead and give you the summary, since I already read it. He's sorry about last night – you'll have to tell me what that's all about later. He talked to Mike this morning and you can stay in his house for two hundred and fifty dollars a week, which you'll know is a steal once you see his bed. I have the keys to Mike's. Pack up and meet me downstairs. I'll take you over there and get you settled in, so you can rest."

Ron's head was spinning from Marty's fast talking, but he managed to nod. "I'm already packed. I reckon I can just go now."

"Great," Marty said, picking up Ron's suitcase. Ron flinched and went to grab it. "I've got it, Red. Let's go."

Ron and Marty walked through the inn. Guests were checking out and lugging their suitcases around the halls and down the stairs. A few of them looked at him curiously and he wondered just how bad he really looked.

Though it wasn't far, by the time they got to Mike's house, Ron felt exhausted. The house was nice, but entirely too modern for Ron's taste. Everything was white and beige and Ron was even more grateful for Professor McGonagall's quick thinking. He was sure that he'd be using plenty of cleaning charms.

"The master bedroom's in here," Marty said, dragging Ron's suitcase through a long hall to the back of the house. "You need a new suitcase, Red. This one here is archaic. You need one with wheels."

"I don't travel much."

"I'm glad you're staying," Marty continued. "It's nice to have some fresh faces around here."

"I'm not staying for long. Just a few weeks." _'I hope,'_ Ron finished silently.

"Here we go." Marty opened the door and Ron stepped into a large bedroom that was mostly taken up by an enormous bed. Marty pointed to a door in the corner of the room. "Bathroom's over there."

Ron yawned and sat down on the bed.

"Get comfortable," Marty ordered. "I'll go and get you some water and juice. You have to drink plenty of fluids."

Without waiting for a response, Marty left the bedroom and Ron heard the front door close. He undressed down to his t-shirt and boxers and flopped down on the bed. It was even more comfortable than it looked. The blanket was fluffy and white and felt cool against his fevered skin. He slid his wand under the feathery pillows before easing his throbbing head onto them.

Ron closed his eyes; he knew that he needed sleep, but was torn between worrying about Harry and his own body that was urging him to rest. He reminded himself that Harry hadn't run away even after Jim confronted him with his real identity.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Marty return until the bedroom door opened.

"You look comfy," Marty said. His arms and hands were filled with a pitcher of water, a carton of orange juice, and two glasses stacked on top of each other. He laid them on the nightstand closest to Ron.

"Thanks," Ron said. "You don't have to –"

"No problem, Red. One more thing."

Marty went into the bathroom and came back out holding a small plastic cup filled with green liquid.

"Nyquil," he said, holding it out towards Ron. "It'll take away some of the ache and help you sleep."

"Ugh!" Ron spat and smacked his lips after drinking it. "That's horrible!"

Chuckling, Marty held out a glass of orange juice. "Here."

The juice helped, but there was still a lingering nasty taste in his mouth and Ron thought even a vomit flavoured _Bertie Bott's Bean_ couldn't taste as bad as this stuff. "Just get some sleep and you'll feel better when you wake up," Marty said, patting Ron's legs. "Oh… the clocks are behind an hour. Mike left before the time change." He picked up the clock next to the bed and pushed some buttons until the numbers showed 10:47. "Drink as much water as you can and some juice too." 

"You're good at this. Remind me of my mum," Ron said teasingly.

Marty grinned proudly. "I was the oldest of nine. I took care of a lot of sick kids."

"There were seven of us."

"Really? Youngest, I bet."

"I was until my sister was born. Only girl."

Marty smiled at him. "We can chat later. Rest now. I'll close the blinds."

The room became so dark that it looked like the middle of the night. Marty cursed as he bumped his knee against the bed on his way out.

Ron would've laughed, but he couldn't summon the energy and, seconds after he heard Marty shut the door, he was asleep.

The clock by his bed glowed green onto the stark white pillows. Ron blinked a few times and focused in on the time – nine twenty-two. He couldn't believe he had slept for eleven hours. He vaguely remembered waking up a few times with a terrible thirst and guzzling down the pitcher of water and orange juice before promptly falling back asleep.

His t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he peeled it off as he moved to the bathroom. He did feel much better, but needed a shower badly.

The bathroom was the same modern style as the rest of the house. Just like the bed, the shower was massive and could easily have fit three grown men comfortably. Ron wondered if it had ever been used to maximum capacity and with that thought came the images of naked wet men. He felt his gut twist and a rush of warmth flooded his belly as he was suddenly hit with memories of his fever-induced, erotic dreams that had put him and Harry in co-starring roles.

He stepped under the spray, closed his eyes, and immediately relaxed. Water sprayed from above him and all around him. It felt glorious. He fiddled with a dial on the wall until it read massage and the water began to come out harder and hit his skin with more pressure. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Several minutes later, Ron decided to get washed before the water turned cold on him. He studied the bottles that were sitting on a shelf, looking for soap. There certainly were a lot of them – shampoo for thicker hair, conditioner for softer more vibrant hair, face wash to remove oil, pore cleaner to remove blackheads, and five different liquid soaps all with different smells. He smelled each of the soaps and chose one with a minty scent; it was the most masculine out of the lot.

After drying off and wrapping a towel around his waist, he grabbed his wand from the bed and opened the door, quickly stepping backwards when a blast of sunshine hit him in the face from a window in the hall.

But that couldn't be right. It was ten in the morning when he fell asleep and if the clock said nine now then that meant he had slept away the entire day.

"Blimey! Hermione!" Ron raced to his suitcase and pulled out his mobile. The screen said five missed calls. He flopped on the bed and called her immediately.

The phone rang only once. "Hello."

"Hello, Hermione!"

"This is Hermione Granger."

"I know who this is!"

"I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your message after –"

"Bugger!" Ron pressed the off button. He didn't trust those message thingies.

She would see that he called though and call back soon. He brought the phone with him as he explored the house. Up on the first floor, Ron found two more bedrooms and one that had a large desk and a computer. Back on the ground floor, Ron walked around the living room, scanning the dozens of pictures in frames that covered the shelves and walls.

Most of them were of two men, who he assumed were Mike and Michael. He had decided that Mike was the shorter man with warm brown eyes because he looked happier than the other.

The television was huge and looked complicated. Ron had loved watching the telly in Harry's room. They had spent hours in there watching it, annoying Hermione in the process. Ron, had no idea how to operate them, however; Harry had always been there to turn it on and find a programme that Ron would enjoy or slip one of those silver disks into the machine that allowed them to watch a movie.

Ron hit the power button and heard a click, but the screen stayed black. He stared it for a few minutes, hoping something would appear, before he remembered the remote control that Harry would use. He found one on the table by the sofa, but there were so many buttons that Ron promptly put it back down.

In the kitchen, which was a harsh bright white with loads of silver appliances, Ron found a note on the table from Marty.

_Red,_

_I checked in on you before bed last night to make sure that you weren't dead. Though your snoring almost woke the dead! Your fever had broken, but I figured that you still needed the rest. _

_There's croissants in the bag on the table. _

_Stop by and see me later._

_Marty_

_P.S. The cat food is below the sink. One bowl a day. Her name is Ginger._

As if on cue, the cat that Ron had forgotten about ran into the room and jumped on the table.

"Well, hullo," Ron said and reached out to glide his fingers along her orange and white fur.

She meowed and pranced around the table, flicking her tail in the air.

"Okay. I'll feed you."

Ginger rubbed in and out of his legs as he filled her bowls with fresh water and food.

"Here you go, girl," he said as he put the bowls on the floor.

"There used to be two," said a male voice.

Startled, Ron looked up, panicking that he had left his wand on the table, out of reach.

Standing there looking like he had just rolled out of bed was Harry.

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron cried, clutching at his chest. "You almost scared the magic right out of me!"

For a spilt second, Ron thought that this was _'his Harry'_ standing there. That Harry had remembered everything or maybe it all had been some elaborate rouse and Harry was here to confess.

His moment of euphoria was quickly squelched when Harry scowled. "What does that mean?"

"Oh… er, nothing." Ron shrugged. "Just something my mum used to say."

He saw Harry's eyes glance towards his chest and he remembered that he was wearing only a towel. Had they been back in London, in their own home, Ron wouldn't have given it a second thought, but here under the gaze of this _'new Harry'_ he felt exposed. He tightened the towel around his waist and stepped behind a chair.

"What are –" they both said at the same time and laughed.

"You first," Ron said.

"What are you doing here?" Harry's pose looked relaxed, but Ron knew from his body language that he was on guard.

"Jim asked Mike if I could rent the house. I've decided to extend my holiday."

"Oh." Harry bent down to pet Ginger, who was purring and rubbing against his legs. "It was my turn to feed her. No one told me that you were here."

"Oh, sorry," Ron said. An uncomfortable silence fell between them and Ron watched Harry petting and cooing at the cat. Finally, he remembered what Harry had said. "You said there were two?"

"Yeah. Mary Ann ran away after Michael left." Harry bent down to pet Ginger's belly. "You miss your friend, huh?"

Ron suddenly felt loads of affection for his new furry friend.

"Mary Ann – odd name for a cat," he said, trying to keep the conversation going while Harry was distracted and he could attempt to hide his wand under Marty's note.

"They had to explain it to me. Mary Ann and Ginger were two women on an American television programme about people stranded on an island."

"Oh… never heard of it." Ron successfully hid his wand seconds before Harry looked up.

"Mike and Michael fancied them. They used to dress as them for a local drag show."

"No!"

"Yeah," Harry said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Michael used to wear a tight gold dress and a long red wig. He had to tape his penis and bollocks between his legs, so there'd be no bulge."

"Aw, Harry, you're taking the piss," Ron said.

"I'm not! Didn't you see the pictures of them?"

Ron shook his head and Harry walked out of the kitchen and motioned for Ron to follow.

In the living room, Harry pointed him to a picture on the bookshelf. Ron squinted and looked at it, searching behind the heavy make-up for any similarities of the blokes he had seen in the other pictures. He recognised the light brown eyes of who he thought was Mike.

"Blimey," he said softly. "I thought they were just ugly birds."

Nodding, Harry laughed, hard. Ron joined in and for a second he forgot everything that had happened and it felt just like old times.

"How are you?" Harry asked real concern in his voice.

"I'm fine. Slept the entire day away."

"So how long are you staying?"

"Dunno. A few weeks."

Harry looked around the room. "This is a great place to stay."

"Oh!" Ron pointed at the television. "Do you know how to use that?"

"Yeah. I could show you."

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, beaming at Harry.

Harry didn't move towards the television. He just stood there looking at Ron.

Ron gave him a quizzical look. "Um, are you going to show me _today_?"

"Have you had breakfast?" Harry asked unexpectedly.

"Er… no… not yet. Marty left some croissants, but I don't know where the coffee is."

"There's a restaurant on Main Street that I fancy." Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I haven't eaten yet either, so… if you want, I could show you."

"That'd be great, Harry!" It was totally unexpected, but nice. Elated that Harry wanted to spend time with him, Ron rushed across the room. "I'll just get dressed."

"I need to get…" Harry's voice trailed into silence. Ron turned to see Harry looking pale and staring at him with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"That…" Harry said, pointing at Ron. "That on your back."

Ron's hand immediately flew to his right shoulder to touch the tattoo of the Gryffindor lion that looked exactly like the one on Harry's left shoulder.

"That looks just like mine," Harry said slowly.

_'Because we got them together,'_ Ron thought.

Hermione had told him not to tell Harry anything about his past or to try to force him to remember anything. She said it would only damage him more.

"I reckon it was pretty popular." Ron bit his lip, hoping that Harry would forget about this and go back to wanting breakfast.

There was a long silence. Ron could see Harry turning it over in his mind.

"_Exactly_ like mine," Harry finally said in a shaky voice. "I can't stay. I forgot… I forgot that I have something to do."

"Harry, it's okay. Don't –"

With a stubborn look on his face, Harry stalked towards the door. "I said that I have something to do."

Ron knew there was no reasoning with Harry when he had that look. He could argue, but it would be pointless and most likely spark some uncontrolled magic and earn him burnt eyebrows or something.

"Fuck!" Ron shouted when the door slammed shut and Harry was gone.

Ginger jumped from behind the sofa and bolted out of the room.

He ran to the window and craned his neck to watch Harry until he disappeared from his line of sight.

Ron sunk onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands. The whole thing was a fucking mess. How was he going to help Harry if Harry went mental every time they were in a room together?

He heard Ginger meow and looked up to see her sitting on top of the television staring at him.

"Fuck!" He still didn't know how to work the bloody telly!

_**TBC**_


	8. A New Ex'something'

**A New Ex…'something'**

"Alohomora," Ron whispered and heard the lock click open.

Harry's house had been completely dark for an hour. Though Ron was fairly confident that Harry was asleep, he still cautiously opened the door and stood still in the doorway with his wand pointed into the darkness listening for any movement.

The house remained quiet and after his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he began carefully walking towards the bedroom where he would execute his plan to stun Harry in his sleep and then murder Dobby.

Not long after Harry had gone mental and left him that morning, a frantic Hermione rang. She had been worried about Ron because he hadn't answered his mobile, and Dobby hadn't returned back to Hogwarts.

_"McGonagall tried summoning him, but he's free so he can ignore her," Hermione sighed. "I've been worried sick. What's going on, Ron?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Nothing?"_

_"I wasn't feeling well yesterday. I know, Hermione, don't say it! But I found a house to stay in while I'm here and I rested and I feel brilliant."_

_"And Harry?"_

_"The same," Ron replied. _

_"Is there something you're not –"_

_Ron pulled the mobile away from his ear and shook it. "Bloody hell! Why is this bloody thing beeping?"_

_"Ron, did you remember to charge the battery?"_

_"No," Ron said and waited for her scolding, but heard only silence. The phone had shut down._

Ron had figured that his best chance to talk to Dobby – okay, he wasn't _really_ going to murder him - was to stun Harry while he was asleep, so he wouldn't have to Obliviate him again.

The door to the bedroom was open and Ron stepped into the room. Pointing his wand at the long lump under the covers, whom he assumed was Harry, Ron wordlessly cast stupefy. The second the bolt of red light left his wand, a bolt of blue hurled toward him. He was knocked off his feet and thrown into the hallway, crying out when his back smacked into the wall and he crashed to the floor.

"Lumos!" Ron shouted and the tip of his wand lit up the room. "Dobby, it's me." He ripped off the cloak. "It's Ron!"

With a crack, Dobby appeared in front of him. "Dobby's sorry, sir! Dobby didn't know!"

Rubbing his back, Ron stood up and glanced into the bedroom. The lump hadn't moved. His spell had hit its mark.

"Dobby, why are you still here?"

Dobby began to twist his tea cozy in his hands. "Dobby doesn't want to leave Harry Potter unprotected. Dobby knows that you are ill, sir."

"I _was _ ill. It was only the flu or something, but I'm okay now. You can go. I'll take care of Harry."

Dobby shook his head.

"Dobby…" Ron said warningly. "Professor McGonagall is very angry with you."

"Dobby will punish himself later, sir. But Dobby cannot leave Harry Potter. He's very unhappy and Dobby knows –"

"Unhappy? What d'you mean unhappy?"

"He has nightmares and he wakes up frightened and lonely. Dobby knows he can't show himself to Harry Potter, but Dobby feels better knowing that Harry Potter isn't alone."

Ron sighed. Nightmares were nothing new in Harry's life, but they had tapered off immensely over the past few years.

"I understand, Dobby. It's… it's hard to…" Ron cleared his throat. "Dobby, you have to go back to Hogwarts. We have to be very careful not to bring any attention to Harry."

"But, sir, Harry Potter –"

"He needs for you to leave!" Ron said in a deep, demanding tone. "I can't force you to leave, Dobby. You're a free house-elf and I respect that. But you have to trust me that this is the best thing for Harry."

Dobby looked at him with his huge thoughtful eyes that were brimming with tears. "Dobby's sorry, Harry Potter's Wheezy. Dobby only wants to help."

"You did help, Dobby," Ron said sincerely. "You helped loads by bringing Harry back here."

Dobby sniffed obnoxiously and wiped his eyes.

"But you have to go," Ron continued. "I promise Harry will be okay here with me. And if I need your help, I'll let Hermione know and you can come right back here."

"But, sir, what if you take ill again, sir? There will be no one here to take care of Harry Potter."

This was like talking to a brick wall. "I was an Auror, Dobby. I know how to take care of myself _and_ Harry. If Hermione doesn't hear from me, she'll know to send you back here to help."

Still not looking convinced, Dobby shook his head.

"I'll tell Harry when he remembers everything that you put us all in danger by not listening to me!"

That did it. Dobby looked terrified.

"Harry Potter's Wheezy will send for Dobby if Harry Potter is in danger?"

"Yes," Ron said firmly.

"Dobby will go back to Hogwarts then, sir."

"Thank you." Ron smiled. "Oh and Dobby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Er, don't tell Hermione or Professor McGonagall about what happened the other night."

"You mean when Harry Potter was dancing, sir?"

"Yes. It's private and –"

"Dobby understands, sir."

The house-elf seemed sincere and Ron smiled. "Thank you."

"Take care of Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said and with a crack he disappeared.

Sighing, Ron shook his head. "I know you're still there, Dobby."

"Sorry, sir!" Dobby shouted followed by a louder crack and Ron knew that he had finally gone.

Using the unexpected opportunity to his advantage, Ron searched the house for clues while Harry was stunned in the bedroom.

There wasn't much to see in Harry's house. It wasn't filled with pictures and mementos of his life like Mike's, though the mess that Ron found in the living room gave it a much more lived-in feeling. There were books and magazines strewn over the tables and a few glasses filled with something that looked as if it was being grown for a Herbology experiment. The kitchen was entirely too neat for it to be Harry's and Ron guessed that he didn't use it that often. The rooms on the first floor were completely empty and untouched.

The last room to search was Harry's bedroom and bathroom. He started in the bathroom first. There were several towels lying on the floor and Harry's dressing gown was thrown over the toilet. A quick search revealed, as expected, nothing unusual, except that Harry fancied the same shampoo that Ron had used.

Picking though the piles of clothes that were thrown around Harry's bedroom, Ron searched their pockets and came up empty handed. The table next to Harry's bed had a small drawer. Ron crouched down next to it and opened it, wishing that he hadn't. There was an opened box of condoms, two tubes of lubrication, and a dodgy magazine.

For a good minute, he just stood there, looking at the magazine cover with a picture of a naked man flaunting his very large cock. _'Harry had sex in this bedroom,'_ said Ron's voice in his head. He was sure it wasn't jealously that he was feeling, at least not jealousy because Harry had been with someone. He had always known who Harry was seeing. His sister, of course, Susan Bones for that brief period after Ginny, and there was Seamus's cousin. Ron couldn't remember anyone else. He decided that he was just jealous because he didn't know the person.

He was just being over-protective like Hermione said he was when it came to Harry.

Ron closed the drawer and went back into the hall to retrieve the invisibility cloak. Once he had it fully draped over him, he released Harry from the spell and held his breath waiting to see if he woke up.

Harry only mumbled softly and rolled over on his back.

Stealthy Ron left the house, making sure that the door was locked behind him.

The following week was uneventful. He spoke to Hermione only once after the battery on his mobile was recharged and she confirmed that Dobby had returned to Hogwarts. He told her there was nothing new to report and hung up unsure why he hadn't told her about Harry being gay. He didn't exactly know why he hadn't told her. It just felt nice to be sharing something private with Harry again.

Harry had been elusive all week, only leaving the house to eat and promptly returning. Ron couldn't find any opportunity to approach him that didn't make him look like a stalker.

Marty, however, had been everywhere that Ron turned, inviting him to dinner, drinks, or the cinema. Ron turned him down each time and by Thursday, when Ron entered the bar at Nobody's and saw Marty and a good-looking chap chatting and laughing at the bar, it appeared that Marty had given up.

The crowd was thin and Ron easily spotted Shawn sitting alone at a table. Not wanting to bother Marty and his friend, Ron decided to join Shawn. As he approached, he could see that Shawn wasn't his usual upbeat self. His hair was still pink and he was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Most people would consider his outfit normal, but on Shawn it looked dowdy.

"Hi, mate. Anyone sitting here?"

Shawn looked up and gave a weak smile. "No."

Ron sat down and ordered a beer when the waiter came for his order. Shawn ordered another martini and went back to staring at the half-empty drink in front of him.

"It's dull around here tonight," Ron said, trying to make small talk. "Not much to do during the week."

"Yeah," Shawn said and half-shrugged.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ron.

Shawn nodded and his eyes filled with tears. "My mom…" he said and a half-sob escaped his throat.

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know."

"Huh?"

"She's in the hospital." Shawn gulped down the rest of his drink and took a deep breath. "We meet every Thursday afternoon for lunch and sometimes we go to this art gallery that she likes. She didn't show up today. So I called her neighbor and she told me they took my mom to the hospital."

"Why don't you go and visit her then?"

"I can't." The waiter appeared and set their drinks on the table.

Ron pulled out a twenty dollar bill – it was easier to keep paying with large bills than trying to work out the smaller bills – and paid for their drinks.

"I don't understand."

"My dad," Shawn said sullenly. "He hates me. Won't let me see her. She has to lie to him each week when she comes and sees me."

"That's…" Ron could think of a few words he'd like to say about that, but instead just opted for a safe reply. "Horrible!"

Shawn nodded and sipped his drink that was close to overflowing. "I know him. He'll be at that hospital morning, noon, and night."

"And he hates you because you're –"

"Gay. He thinks that I'm doing it just to piss him off. He hasn't spoken to me – except to tell me to 'get the fuck out of his house' - since I told him. He talks big about God and the church and marriage, but he's a fucking hypocrite. He cheats on my mom!"

Shawn's dad reminded Ron of Harry's uncle.

Ron settled back in the chair and drank his beer, thinking. Shawn rattled Ron a bit, but he was nice and didn't deserve not to be able to see his sick mum.

"You know where she is?"

"Yeah. Doylestown Hospital. It's about ten miles from here."

"What if your father wasn't there?" Ron said, leaning his elbows on the table. "Could you sneak in and see her?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But how –"

"Leave that to me."

Ron met Shawn in the lobby of Nobody's an hour before visiting hours began. They had a quick breakfast and left in Shawn's car. Shawn appeared to be in a much better mood, though nervous, and he talked constantly during their drive. Ron nodded and made noises of affirmation when it seemed appropriate.

The hospital was a large facility with a huge parking lot in front. Ron directed Shawn to park in the front so they could watch for his dad to show up.

"He's a big guy," Shawn said. "You can't miss him." He lit a cigarette and dangled it from his fingertips out the window. "Sorry. I smoke when I'm nervous."

"Don't be nervous. I'm good at this."

Not too soon after, Shawn flicked his fag away and his back straightened. Ron could sense the tension coming off him. "There he is," Shawn whispered and pointed at a tall, heavy man getting out of a large silver car that looked as if it could eat Shawn's small red car.

"He loves that stupid Cadillac," Shawn said, his face twisted up in disgust, and Ron got an idea.

"Let's wait here for a while. I want to get you inside, so we don't waste time getting you in once he's out."

They waited fifteen minutes before entering the lobby and approaching the security guards. Shawn was a bit apprehensive about signing in, afraid that his father would see it, so Ron recommended that he use an alias. Shawn gave him an evil little smile and bent his head to sign his fake name. As Ron signed his own alias in the book, he looked at the one Shawn had written, Phil McCracken.

The security guard told them that Shawn's mum, Eileen, was on the ninth floor in room nine-ten. As they walked away, Shawn linked his arm through Ron's and whispered in his ear, "Oh, Ronnie. You are good at this."

"Who's Phil McCracken?" asked Ron.

"It's a joke name – fill m'crack in. Get it?"

"Oh…" Ron blushed furiously as he followed Shawn into the lift.

Ron scoped out the ninth floor. At the end of the hall, just outside the lifts, were public toilets and a small lounge. He pointed at the door marked 'Men.' "Go in there. Stay out of sight and I'll come and get you when you can go into your mum's room. And what's your dad's name?"

"George Mullin," Shawn said and gave him an enthusiastic wave good-bye.

Ron rode the lift back down to the lobby and found another toilet. He slipped on the invisibility cloak, went back out to the lobby, and pointed his wand at one of the two security guards. It was a simple, but useful charm that Harry had taught him.

Instantly the guard looked uncomfortable and turned to his partner. "Have to go to the bathroom." He grabbed a newspaper and hurried to the toilet.

Ron followed and stunned him. There wasn't a lock on the door leading out to the hall, so Ron knew that he had to undress the guard quickly, stash him in one of the stalls, and put on the uniform.

The trousers and shirt sleeves were a bit too short. Ron lengthened them magically and then peered out the door to make sure the other guard wasn't around. He slipped out and headed straight for room nine-ten.

The door was open. He could only see Shawn's mum's feet, but he could see his dad clearly sitting in a chair at the end of her bed. His face was twisted in a frown and he was talking loud enough that Ron could hear him.

"This is a real inconvenience, Eileen. I had to take two days off from work with no pay."

"I know, George. I'm sorry," he heard Shawn's mum reply. She sounded tired and Ron had to fight the urge to blast Mr Mullin through the window behind him.

"None of these doctors know what they're talking about. You're just fine. You were up and about, blabbering to your friends just the other day. Yakking about that stupid fundraiser you've been wasting your time with."

"It's not stupid. It's to buy books for kids that can't afford them."

As George grunted disdainfully, Ron strode through the door. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mrs Mullin," he said. Eileen Mullin looked like an older and more tired feminine version of her son. They both had small facial features and light blue eyes. "But I need to have a word with Mr Mullin."

"What? Why?" George asked angrily.

"Mr Mullin, it'll only take a minute. We can just step right outside and –"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you want!"

"Do you own a silver Cadillac?"

That got his attention and he stood up. "Yes."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but someone just crashed into it. There's some damage…"

"What the hell?" George, his face red and angry, brushed by Ron out into the hall.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Mullin," Ron said hurriedly and followed George, who was already at the lifts pushing the button over and over again as if it would make it come faster.

"What kind of hospital is this?" he yelled at Ron. "What are you doing - letting drunks ride around in the parking lot?"

"No, sir," Ron said as he looked around to make sure no one else was in the hall. He slipped his wand down from his sleeve and wordlessly stunned George and quickly put his arm around his shoulder before he hit the ground. He decided to drag George physically into the lounge. Levitating him would be too risky. This way, he could lie and say that George had fainted. They were in a hospital after all.

No one saw them and Ron was able to settle George into one of the seats and set him in a position that made him look like he was sleeping. He went to the door of the loo and looked at the lounge to make sure that George would be out of Shawn's line of sight. He was.

Ron opened the door. "Shawn, it's okay. You can see your mum now."

Shawn came out of one of the stalls, saw Ron, and gave him a loopy grin. "I don't even want to know how you got that uniform!"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told," Ron said, laughing. "Go visit your mum. You have all the time that you want. I'll just be in here. Come and get me when you're done."

"My dad…"

"He's fine. Don't worry about him. Go on!"

Shawn came back about twenty minutes later grinning wildly. "Ronnie!" he shrieked and threw himself at Ron, wrapping his arms around Ron's chest. "She's going to be okay. It was just her asthma. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Awkwardly Ron patted Shawn's back. "Glad to hear that, mate. Now we have to leave."

Ron led Shawn out and put him on the lift. "I'll meet you in the car."

It was easy to finish the mission. Under the invisibility cloak, Ron released George from the stun and as George staggered out of the lounge, he performed a memory modification spell. George would go back to the room and tell his wife that it had been another car and that his was just fine.

The security guard was still safe in the bathroom and Ron changed into his own clothes and took care of him in the same way as George.

Shawn was bouncing in his seat when Ron returned to the car. "I can't believe you did that, Ron. I owe you _big_ time! Whatever you want! Do you need a website for anything?"

"Uh?"

"A website. That's what I do. I design websites."

"Sounds brilliant, but I really don't anything like that."

"Sounds boring." Shawn chuckled. "It is and the pay sucks, but I can work from home in my boxers and no one cares. And sometimes I get a gig to design a gay porn site. Free porn is a great fringe benefit."

Shawn was just as chatty on the ride back to New Hope. Ron tried to pay attention, but he couldn't keep up as the names and stories all blended in together.

"It's really boring around here during the week while everyone is working. I hope it didn't turn you off and you want to go home now… Ron?"

"Huh?"

"You don't want to go home now, do you?"

"No."

"Good! This weekend will be a lot of fun. Andy's having a party at his house tomorrow night. It's a really nice house. He got it for a steal and expanded the kitchen and added an extra bedroom. Everyone will be there. Marty has to work late, but he'll come by later. I told Marty not to waste his time with you, but he never learns."

"Uh-huh."

"Like when Harry showed up. Marty was alllllll over him. It was pathetic when it was obvious that Jim and Harry were going to hook up."

Ron's head swivelled sharply towards Shawn. "Pardon?"

"Marty. I was saying that he likes you."

"No. What about Harry and Jim?"

"Didn't Jim tell you? Him and Harry went together for awhile. About a month, I think. Jim never did tell us the whole story. But he's private like that. Harry too. We don't know _anything_ about Harry."

Shawn kept droning on about two tops clashing in a relationship and Ron sat their gobsmacked. Jim had never mentioned that he and Harry were a couple – boyfriends - lovers. Ron didn't know what to call them. He just knew that he was angry for trusting Jim while Jim had withheld _very /i _ important information.

"Will Jim be at Andy's party tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," Shawn said.

_'Good,'_ Ron thought. _'Jim and I are going to have a little chat.'_

_**TBC**_


	9. A New Image

The crowd at Nobody's grew thicker as the night wore on and the empty glasses in front of Ron multiplied. He sat crammed around a small round table with Shawn, Andy, Scott, and Harry as Shawn recounted, for the third time that night, their adventures from earlier that day.

Everyone looked bored. Ron watched Andy scanning the crowd and hoped that he wasn't looking for a way out. Andy and Scott made Ron feel more comfortable as the pair balanced out Shawn's hyper nature and Harry's contrasting aloofness.

"Shawn, look," Andy said, pointing at the opposite end of the room. "Isn't that Mark?"

Shawn leaned over Ron, craning his neck for a better view. "Oh, it is. His wife must be out of town." He kissed Ron's cheek. "Sorry, Ronnie," he said as he crawled over Ron's lap to stand up. "But that's the best chance I have of getting laid this weekend. Ta-ta!"

Scott clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Looks like you found yourself a new pet."

Ron chuckled. "Shawn's okay. His father's a right bastard, though."

"Whose isn't?" Scott asked, grinning.

Unable to agree, Ron just smiled as Andy and Scott began commiserating about their fathers. Ron watched the two men talk. It was obvious that they were close. They were the kind of best mates who could finish each other's sentences and tell each other complicated things in few words.

Ron ached to have that again with Harry.

Andy and Scott stopped talking and looked at Ron, who hadn't realized that he was staring.

"Something wrong?" asked Andy.

"Uh, no." Ron's tongue and lips, loosened by the beer, expressed his internal thoughts. "You two are close mates, yeah?"

They both looked at each briefly; then they nodded in unison.

"And you're both attracted to… gay?"

Two more nods of affirmation.

"Then why aren't you… you know – _together_."

Andy rubbed his nose and Scott laughed before answering. "Well, we're just friends."

"But…" Ron glanced at Harry, who was casually sipping his beer, but his eyes that were focused on Ron showed interest in the conversation. "But if you're friends and care about each other and you're both attracted to men – then why not give it a go?"

"Are you attracted to all of your female friends?" Scott asked. "Didn't you tell us about your friend who you dated and there was no spark?"

"Yeah, but… we at least attempted to… and…" Ron thought about the women who he called friends: Hermione, Luna, Tonks, and Susan. He couldn't think of one of them that he was interested in dating and that troubled him.

"That's what it's all about, isn't it?" Scott continued. "Chemistry."

Ron shook his head. "More than that, I think. You need to really know the person."

"That comes later," Scott said. "Chemistry's the thing that pulls you together though."

"I reckon," Ron said. "But what if the chemistry's there because you know the person? What if the chemistry comes later?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't think that happens all that often."

"It could," Andy said quietly and they all looked at him. "It's not always about _physical_ attraction," he added and Ron thought he detected bitterness in his voice.

"No, it's not always about physical attraction," Scott said. "I was talking about sexual attraction. A lot of people date and then when it doesn't work out remain good friends. So that proves it's about sexual attraction."

Andy snorted and the tension between the men increased, though Ron didn't think that Scott was aware of it. "And most of the time in those so-called 'we're just good friends now' relationships, one of the two is still carrying around a torch for the other."

Ron wondered who in the Harry and Jim equation was still holding the torch.

"I don't think that's true at all," Harry said, finally speaking. "Some people are just better off as friends."

"Oh, really?" Scott asked, clearly amused at something.

Andy just looked surprised that Harry had said anything at all. 

"Romantic relationships are different than friendships," Harry said. "More expectations and more complications."

"Which one is more complicated with more expectations - romance or friendship?" Scott asked.

Harry chuckled astutely. "Both, I reckon."

"I'll drink to that!" Andy said and raised his glass.

"What about friends with benefits?" Scott asked, looking around at the men. "It's a win-win situation the way I see it. Sex with no strings."

"Friends with what?" asked Ron.

"Friends with benefits," Scott said, sounding surprised that he had to explain it. "You know? You and a close friend have sex if there are no other prospects."

"That's awful!" Ron said, immediately looking at Harry to see if he agreed.

"I don't see the point either," Harry said much to Ron's relief.

"Nothing wrong with it," Scott said. "It's just fooling around and having some fun."

"I think it's wrong," Ron said, shaking his head. "It's like saying, I want to have sex with you, but I don't want anyone to know."

Scott started to say something, but put the lip of his beer bottle in his mouth and took a deep swig instead.

Andy looked at his watch. "I have to go. I have a lot of cleaning to do tomorrow before the party."

"I'll stop over tomorrow and help," Harry said, leaning over and squeezing Andy's shoulder that Ron suspected meant something more than just good-bye.

"Yeah, thanks," Andy said, standing. "See ya, Ron… Scott."

A familiar voice passed behind Ron and he glanced over his shoulder to see Shawn walking by with the married guy. When Ron turned back, Scott was standing.

"I'm going to stop over at Ninety's," he said, leaving before Ron could say good-bye.

"Ninety's?"

"Another bar on Main Street. It's really trendy," Harry replied. "I don't like it."

"Andy and Scott… is there something dodgy going on between them?"

"You're clever," Harry said and smiled. He placed his beer on the table and the light directly overhead illuminated the scars on the back of his hand. The horrible woman's punishment had faded over time, but was still visible in certain lights and Ron wondered how he explained them to people.

"You're not going to tell me, then?" Ron asked when Harry stood up.

"It's a secret." Harry winked and cocked his head towards the door. "I'm going home. If you're going too…"

"Yeah." Ron stood up so quick he almost knocked over the table.

They walked through the bar and the lobby, stopping to chat with Marty before they stepped into the cold night. Ron hugged himself as they walked the path around the inn.

"It got colder," Harry said.

"Yeah."

"That, er – that was a nice thing you did for Shawn."

He looked at Harry to make sure that he wasn't joking. Harry looked very sincere. Ron shrugged. "Shawn's an odd bloke, but he doesn't deserve to be treated like that by his dad."

"So what _did_ you do to get his dad out of the room?"

"Ah… it's a secret," Ron said with a wink.

Harry chuckled. "Cheeky bastard."

They walked in silence, until they reached Ron's temporary home. Ron put his hand on the door and turned around to say good night. He was surprised to see Harry not walking towards his house.

"Are you going to Andy's tomorrow night?" Harry asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll see you there."

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

"I really need to go shopping." Ron looked down at the jeans that he had worn more than once and the shirt that he had spelled clean twice. "I wasn't planning on staying this long and I've run out of clothes. Is there somewhere I can -"

"There's really nothing around here." Harry rubbed his cheeks reddened by the wind and cold. "There are a few shops about ten miles away. You could have a taxi take you."

"Oh… what shops? What should I tell the taxi?"

"There's a Gap and…" Harry paused. "Or I could go with you."

"That'd be great!"

"I'll knock you up after breakfast." Harry said. Ron had been hoping for breakfast, but he'd take what he could get. "We'll take Mike's car. Night, mate."

"Huh? What? Car? Who'll drive us?"

"Me."

The next morning, Ron got out of bed anxious to get the day going. His sleep had been broken and he restlessly rolled around the bed, annoying Ginger, who had taken up sleeping at the foot of the bed near Ron's feet. When he did sleep, he dreamt of being crushed by the Whomping Willow.

Ron opened the door the second Harry knocked on it.

"Morning, Harry."

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Ron said, grabbing his coat off a hook by the door.

He followed Harry to the 4x4 that was parked in front of the main inn.

"So, when did you learn how to drive?"

Harry looked at him curiously. "How'd you know that I just learnt how to drive?"

"I…" Ron silently swore. They weren't even going to make it to the car before Harry bolted. "On the wrong side of the road."

"Oh, yeah." Harry opened the car doors and slid into the driver's seat. Before getting in the car, Ron shimmied his right arm until the handle of his wand slipped into his palm, so he would be ready to Apparate them both out of the car at the first sign of a possible accident. "I didn't know how to drive on the other side of the road in the first place, so it wasn't that hard to learn."

Before they pulled on to the street, Ron fastened his seat belt and reminded Harry to do the same.

"Who taught you?" Ron asked.

"Marty and Shawn. Mostly Marty though."

"Good," Ron said. He had expected Harry to say Jim.

"Good?"

"I mean that was nice of them."

"Yeah. Don't tell Jim about it though."

Ron winced. He knew Jim was going to come up somehow. "Why not?"

"I'm not exactly driving legally. I don't have a license."

Ron turned to look out the window. Harry driving without a license wasn't a shock; he had never outgrown stepping outside of the rules. It was disappointing that he cared what Jim thought. Harry only cared about what other people thought of him, when he cared about them.

Harry made small talk, asking how Ginger and Ron were getting along. Ron told him about her odd habits and fickleness, complaining about her nocturnal routine of chasing her tail in the bathtub.

It wasn't a long drive, but the shopping area was crowded and Harry had circled the same streets repeatedly, looking for a spot to park the car. Ron saw someone putting packages in the boot of their car and pointed them out to Harry.

Harry led them to a shop called Gap and held the door open for Ron to walk in. Close to an hour later, Ron walked out with a bag filled with two pairs of jeans, a jumper, a sweatshirt, and a few t-shirts. He was satisfied and ready to return home, but Harry started walking the opposite way of the car. Without questioning where they were going, Ron followed him into a small shop on the corner. He read the sign above the door – _'From Head to Toe.'_

The shop was small and well lit. Fast paced dance music played lowly from speakers in the ceiling. It appeared, unlike the Gap, that it sold only men's clothes.

"Shawn fancies this place," Harry said. "I thought you'd be able to find something nice for the party tonight here."

"Oh, it's formal, is it?"

"No, it's –"

"So, Harry, you're saying I look like a slob?"

Harry's looked guilty and Ron smiled to let him know that he was only joking.

"All those blokes take their clothes very seriously," Harry whispered as a man around their age approached them.

"Don't I know you?" he asked, looking at Harry.

"I'm Shawn's mate."

"Yes! What can I do for you today?"

As Harry told the clerk what they were shopping for, Ron looked around at the clothes. They looked stylish, well-made, and expensive.

"So something casual, but eye-catching." The clerk leered at Ron. "Body will make it easier, but the hair. Now that's a challenge. "He went off walking around the store, looking at clothes and then back to Ron.

Ron looked at Harry, who looked entertained.

"You're enjoying this," Ron said, elbowing lightly in the ribs.

"Be thankful it's me and not Shawn."

"Oh… Shawn did this to you, did he?"

"Yes."

Ron laughed. "You sound bitter, mate."

Harry frowned and rubbed at his eyebrow. "He wanted me to have my eyebrows waxed!"

Ron was still laughing when the clerk came back with an arm full of clothes. "Can't get too colorful with your hair," he said matter-of-factly. "Not that there is anything wrong with it. I think these browns will look fabulous on you. And white will really make your hair _pop_. Though it's winter, so you want to wear white sparingly."

Harry laughed softly and Ron hissed, "Stop taking the piss, Harry," as they followed him to the fitting rooms.

The clerk, who told Ron his name was Jeff, placed all of the clothes into one of the cubicles and left. Unlike in the other shop, Harry followed him inside the room and sat right outside the door, making Ron feel even more uncomfortable.

There were a few pairs of trousers and jeans. Ron put a pair of jeans on first. They were more fitted than the jeans he had just purchased and Ron looked in the mirror and immediately pushed them to his ankles. He couldn't wear clothes like this. Not with his skinny, long legs. 

"Aren't you going to let me see?" Harry asked.

"They don't fit."

"I bet they do."

"Really, they don't."

"Don't make me come in there," Harry said, his voice just outside the door.

There was no lock on the door, so Ron placed his palm flat against the door, just in case Harry tried to get in. "No! I'll put them back on."

He pulled up the jeans and opened the door.

A laugh was not the reaction he had been hoping for. "I look ridiculous," Ron said, stepping back into the cubicle. The jeans were so low, he was sure a bit of red curly hair was peeking out above the waistband.

"No," Harry said, reaching out and pulling Ron forward by the wrists. "You look fantastic. You're _acting_ ridiculous." He looked through the clothes and grabbed a white shirt. "Put this on."

He stepped back and Ron stood there until he realized Harry was waiting for him to change shirts right there in front of him. Trying to hide his nervousness, Ron focused on his feet as he lifted his t-shirt off.

"How'd you get those?" Harry asked, reaching out to touch the stark white scars weaved in and out of the freckles on his forearm.

"I…" How could he explain them? Everything he thought of sounded daft, so he decided to just be mysterious. "I don't want to talk about it."

Harry shrugged, but looked back at Ron's arms after he sat down.

Ron put on the shirt; it felt cool against his skin heated from embarrassment. He began to button the shirt up to the top, but Harry stood again and grabbed his wrist. "Leave that." He opened the first few buttons and stepped back. "Stuff the shirt tails into the jeans." Ron did as he was told, but Harry shook his head. "It looks better out."

Ron grinned. The Harry who he knew could barely match black shoes to black robes. He found it very amusing that Harry was giving him fashion advice better than Hermione. He tucked it away in his memories to take the piss out of Harry later when everything returned to normal.

"The jeans…" Ron said. "They're a bit low and covered by the shirt, so what's the point?"

Smirking, Harry stepped forward and put his hands on Ron's hips. Ron felt his stomach twist into a small ball and leap up into his throat. "It'll be a surprise for someone special."

"I don't know."

"They look fantastic."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry grabbed Ron and pulled him completely out of the cubicle and forced him to face a full-length mirror. He lifted the shirt to reveal Ron's long and lean stomach.

Ron didn't see what Harry saw. He only saw his own body that was too skinny and pale flesh marred by freckles. He was certain that Harry was only being polite because he unquestionably wasn't the sexy broad and muscular type, with defined muscles in his arm and chest, like Jim.

He sensed Harry lean closer and hands gripped his hips as Harry's face peeked over his shoulder. "You look dead sexy in them," Harry said. They met each other's gaze in the mirror and Harry's eyes looked bright and bold, daring Ron to disagree with him. Ron's heart began to beat so hard that he thought for sure that Harry could hear it.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. "Everything okay in here, gentleman?"

"Yes," Ron said hurriedly and took the interruption from Jeff as an opportunity to step away from Harry and the weird feeling. The air in the room shifted again and Harry, looking as composed as Ron was rattled, sat back in the chair.

After all of the clothes had been tried on and showed off to Harry, Ron took the three shirts, two pairs of trousers, and one pair of jeans that Harry had said he fancied and gave them to Jeff.

Harry bought a green shirt that Jeff had showed him and said Harry would look exquisite in it, insisting that it had been made for Harry. Ron silently agreed when the shirt was held up against Harry's chest.

Ron's bill was over six hundred dollars and though Ron couldn't perform the conversion to pounds and then to Galleons that quickly in his head, he knew it was high enough that Bill was going to go spare.

"Where do I put these?" Ron asked as Scott handed him a large platter filled with various cheeses cut in a number of ways.

Scott pointed to the large dining table. "Over there. Just make room between the fruit and the sandwiches."

"Thanks a lot for helping out, Ron," Andy said as he lit the candles on the table.

"No problem."

"That's done," Andy said, brushing his hands together.

Shawn walked in, sipping wine and looking abnormally – at least for him – calm. "Why don't you give Ron a tour of the house?"

"Good idea," Andy agreed.

Andy led Ron through the house, pointing out all the additions he had added since he bought it. The floors were a dark wood and the walls were all painted different, but coordinating colours. Ron also noted that there was an unusual amount of art.

"It's amazing, Andy."

"You like it?" Andy asked, grinning proudly.

"Yeah. I don't know shite about decorating, but I know what I like when I see it."

Andy led Ron into the garden and Ron whistled when he saw the massive pool currently covered up for the winter.

"I added that last summer," Andy said.

There were fairy lights strung up around the trees and tall lamps that glowed orange and gave off heat placed around the garden.

"Damn, I forgot to light the fireplaces," Andy said, referring to two large stone fireplaces on either side of the patio. He turned and called into the house asking Scott to take care of it. "I'll show you my studio."

"Studio?"

"I'm a photographer."

"Cool."

The studio was a room above the garage. Ron followed Andy up a metal spiralling staircase.

Ron looked at the massive lighting equipment set up in the back corner of the room and asked, "Is this where you work?"

"Sometimes. I work for a modeling agency in New York too. So I go there if I'm doing a shoot for a publication. I mostly do freelance stuff here and I'll pick up the occasional special event."

Ron walked around the room looking at the photographs on the walls. They were a mix of people and landscapes. Some were colour, others were studies in black and white. He stopped when he recognised Shawn. The pictures of Shawn were incredible. They weren't only still photographs illustrating Shawn's likeness, they captured his essence. The look in his eyes said, "I'm me and happy with it. You should be too and the world would be a much better place."

Ron smiled at the photograph and moved on, grazing over the ones of Marty, but one of Scott caught his eye. The picture was a profile of Scott and there was something about it so intimate that the conversation from the night before became very clear. Andy was in love with Scott. Ron felt sympathy for his new friend and his personal suffering of having to spend so much time in love with someone who didn't love him back. At least not in the same way.

The next set of pictures took Ron by surprise. There were only three of them; not as many as the others and they were all of Harry. Ron glanced over his shoulder and checked on Andy, who was fiddling with some equipment, and looked back at the photos. In the first one, Harry was wearing that smirk. The one he got after he had just said something particularity cheeky. In the second one, Harry was laughing and caught in mid-stroke as he ran his hand through his hair. The last one showed Harry, his face impassive, but his eyes held so much raw emotion, so much sadness, that Ron had to step back and look away from it before it broke his heart.

"I'm proud of those," Andy said as he walked up to Ron.

Knowing Harry as well as Ron did, he spoke his next words with complete sincerity. "These are amazing, Andy. You're really talented."

Andy blushed and nodded a 'thank you.' "I had to shoot his mainly in color. The hair – the eyes – it'd be a shame to waste them in black and white. I shot more than two rolls of film, but these were the only ones that said something. The others, though great eye-candy, were bland."

Ron was about to defend Harry who was certainly not bland, but Andy added, "He's good at that - pretending to be boring. These say differently though."

He didn't have anything to say to that. It was getting a bit frustrating that all of these blokes thought they knew Harry when they didn't have a clue.

"Hey!" Andy exclaimed. "You should let me –"

Ron shook his head, knowing where Andy was heading.

"Seriously, I think you'd be very photogenic." They walked out. Andy shut out the lights and closed the door. "I'd do you in color too. Your hair actually makes me wish that I had taken painting more seriously."

It was Ron's turn to blush.

Several guests had already arrived and were milling around the main house. Ron spotted Harry standing by the food and stared at his profile. He looked happy at the moment, but the sadness that Ron saw in those eyes was going to haunt Ron's thoughts for a long time.

"See something delicious?"

Ron turned around to see Shawn standing there grinning broadly.

"Yeah, the food looks –"

"I wasn't talking about the food," Shawn said, sliding next to Ron and slipping his arm through Ron's. "You want something, but it's not from a party platter."

"Huh?"

"The way you look at him, Ronnie. I saw it the first night that you two met. You look at him like you're dying of thirst and he's a tall, cold glass of water."

"I-I-I… I do not!"

"Sure you don't, Ronnie," Shawn said, laughing.

"So… you're in a good mood," Ron said, changing the subject.

Shawn sighed happily. "Mark left his wife."

"Again!" Scott said, coming up on the other side of Ron.

"He came out to her this time," Shawn said haughtily.

"Mark's done this before," Scott said to Ron. "Broke Shawn's heart twice."

"It's different this time," Shawn addressed to Ron. "He's getting an apartment here in town."

"You're going to get your heart broken again!" Scott argued. "I'm only trying to –"

"You're only trying to rain on my parade!" Shawn retorted. "You – you haven't had a relationship since Clinton was in office and you're giving me relationship advice!"

"Evening, Ladies… and Ron." Jim walked up from behind them. Shawn, obviously sensing the tension in Ron's body, gripped Ron's arm tighter.

"I've been waiting for you," Ron said and gently removed Shawn's hand from his forearm.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah." Ron turned and walked out, expecting Jim to follow him, which he did. Ron stopped outside by one of the heat lamps, turned to Jim, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You lied to me."

"Excuse me?"

"When you told me about Harry's history here, you left out an important detail."

"Oh."

"Yes – _oh_."

"Who told you?"

"What does that matter?"

"It doesn't. I was stalling."

"Stalling? Why? Why do you have to stall? Why do you have to hide –"

"That's why," Jim said self-righteously. "Because you get too emotional."

"You don't know me. Don't act as if you do!"

Jim stepped forward in a manner that might've made someone else step back, but Ron held his ground and set his jaw even more stubbornly then before. "I didn't tell you because Harry's and my relationship is none of your business."

It took a second for Ron to recover from the phrase _'Harry's and my relationship,'_ but when he did, he steeled over his features. "It _is_ my business." Ron lowered his voice. "You know about Harry's memory loss. What if you're angry over your break-up and want revenge?"

Jim shook his head and chuckled. "For your information, Ron, I ended it with Harry, therefore I am _not_ looking for revenge." 

Before Ron could say another word, Jim left him standing there with his mouth open and his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

Harry was the jilted one. The one still carrying the torch. The information had no bearing at all on the major issues at hand. It didn't make Harry's situation with the ministry or his missing memory any worse, but it made Ron feel miserable, extraordinarily, inexplicably, excruciatingly miserable.

"There you are," Shawn walked outside with the man Ron saw him with at Nobody's, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. "Mark, this is Ron, the one that I was telling you about. Ron, this is Mark."

Shawn beamed at Ron and Mark as they shook hands. Ron smiled back at Shawn, glad that someone had something to be happy about.

**TBC**


	10. A New Hobby

**Chapter Ten - A New Hobby**

Every time Ron closed his eyes over the next few nights, he saw Harry's sad eyes captured by Andy's camera. With each attempt to sleep Ron noticed something different. Every tiny detail of those eyes, whether it was the ring of yellow specks around the pupil, the streaks of pale green one dimension beneath emerald, or the long, thick, black lashes that only served to accent the pain in the eyes, was engraved on the back of Ron's eyelids.

After hours of frustration, he'd give up and get out of bed. Playing with Ginger passed some of the time. She fancied playing with a shoelace he took out of his trainers and dangled in front of her. Eventually she'd get bored and go back to sitting in her favourite spot on the windowsill. Often Ron sat with her and looked out into the darkness, wondering if she was waiting for her master or her friend Mary Ann.

He wanted to call Hermione just to talk to someone, but he knew that she'd only worry if she thought he wasn't sleeping. They still had their daily phone calls during reasonable hours to check in and make sure everything was alright. Nothing new was happening, so they were brief and it only added to Ron's feeling of isolation. Now he missed both of his best friends.

By Tuesday, Ron was bored and frustrated. He had fiddled with the telly for hours in the middle of the night and eventually accomplished getting sound from it, but no picture. He had lain on the sofa until dawn listening to programmes describing how someone could become rich by investing in real estate.

There was only one thing left to do. He had to ask Harry for help. He could go to Marty, but he worried that Marty would think it was too strange that Ron didn't know how to operate something that was so simple to a Muggle.

Right before lunch, which was a tactical decision on Ron's part as he hoped that he could convince Harry to stay and eat, he ran through the rain that had plagued the area for days and knocked on Harry's door. Harry answered looking like he had just got out of bed, wearing only white thin cotton bottoms, a white t-shirt, and no shoes or socks.

Ron was struck mute the moment that he was face-to-face with the eyes he had obsessed about for days. He stared at them, looking for some answers to what was beneath the shroud of detachment Harry had constructed.

"Hello, Ron. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I was just wondering… er, I still can't get the blasted telly to work. Could you give me a hand, mate?"

Harry nodded. "I s'pose. I need to get dressed first."

"Great. Thanks!"

Ron rushed back to his house and began making sandwiches with the food he had bought the previous day at a small market on Main Street. He was finishing the third sandwich when he heard a knock on the door.

Ginger beat him there and he picked her up before answering so she didn't get out.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, opening the door wide for Harry to step in. "I really appreciate it."

Harry looked around, smirking. "It's a bit messier than when Mike was here."

Rob blushed as he picked up two pairs of socks from the sofa. "I've been –"

"Busy trying to fix the telly?"

Ron chuckled. "Yep, something like that."

Once Ron put Ginger down, she went straight to Harry and began rubbing against his calf shamelessly begging for attention.

"Hi," Harry said as he scratched her neck and she began purring. When Harry stopped, Ginger pranced over to Ron, sat down, and meowed up at him.

"I see you two are getting along famously," Harry said.

"It's time to feed her," Ron replied. "She's not always this nice to me. Mostly she acts as if I'm not worthy to breathe the same air as her."

Harry laughed loudly. Ron insides swelled with pleasure and the image of those sad eyes faded a little.

"Go on, then. I'll take a look at the telly."

"Speaking of eating, I was just making lunch. Would you like a sandwich?"

"Yeah. I haven't eaten yet. Had a lie-in today."

Ron bounded off to the kitchen pleased with himself for getting Harry to stay. Within a few minutes, he heard the television blaring and Harry yelled in from the living room. "Too many remotes for this bloody thing!"

"Yeah?" Ron yelled back.

Ginger crunched away at her food as Ron finished the sandwiches, put them on a plate, grabbed a bag of potato chips, which he hoped were like the crisps back home, and went back into the living room. He found Harry sitting on the sofa and the television ablaze with a flawless, dazzling picture.

"Wow!" Ron put the food on the table.

"Mike loves this telly."

"I can see why," Ron said, awe-stuck as he watched a plane flying in front of a spectacular blue sky.

"Let me show you how it works," Harry said.

Ron sat down next to him and Harry went over the three remotes that controlled the television, the cable, and the DVD player. Ron didn't know what a DVD player was and was afraid to ask, so he just nodded and decided that he wasn't going to shut the television off the entire time he was here.

"This one changes the channel, right?" Ron asked and Harry nodded. Ron pressed the button Harry had showed him. The picture on the telly flickered briefly and a new programme was on.

Ron scooted closer to the edge of the sofa in his excitement and switched through the channels.

"That's a good movie," Harry said with a mouthful of sandwich.

"What is it?"

"Spider-Man. It's the first one – I think. Yes, that's his uncle, so it's the first one."

"Oh." Ron reached for a sandwich, stopping when he remembered that they didn't have anything to drink. "Something to drink? I have a few different fizzy drinks or if you want a beer?"

"Bit early for a beer, isn't it?"

"It's _after_ twelve," Ron said wryly.

Harry snorted. "Oh, well, in that case, a beer it is."

Ron retrieved the beers and came back to find Harry shoeless and reclining back against the sofa with his feet up on the table.

"Thanks," Harry said. "D'you mind if I stay and watch this? I don't get this channel."

"No problem, mate. I could use the company."

Settling on the other end of the sofa, Ron removed his shoes and put his feet on the table too. Ginger, fed and content, jumped up next to him and curled in a ball; her purring so strong, she vibrated against his hip.

The pair didn't talk much during the movie. Ron had a hard time understanding a lot of it, but he liked the action and he thought it was cool how Spider-Man swung from building to building using a web. He knew enough about Muggles from Harry, Dean, and Hermione that he understood it was all make-believe and nothing more than a story crafted from a Muggle's imagination. Harry, Hermione, and him had done much more amazing things on a daily basis before they were even of age. Yet there was something enticing about watching the daring feats and not having to worry about someone really getting killed… or worse – expelled, Ron thought and sniggered.

The movie ended and another one began. Harry explained that it was the sequel to the last movie and he made no indication that he was leaving, so Ron disturbed the ball of fur next to him and went to the refrigerator for more beer. Harry drank the second beer faster and Ron had to get up three more times before the movie was over.

Harry stretched his lean body, lifting his arms over his head and pushing his legs out before him. "Thanks, mate."

Ron's mind searched for ideas on how to keep Harry from leaving. It had been comforting and the first time in ages that Ron felt relaxed and he wasn't about to let it go that easily.

"I… I'm not sure I can work the DVD thing."

Harry got up and opened the cabinet underneath the television and shook his head. "Sorry, mate, the only DVDs Mike has are dodgy. I don't think you'd be interested."

"Dodgy?" Ron asked, standing up and peering over Harry's shoulder.

"Porn."

That was something Ron didn't have a problem understanding.

There were about fifteen thin boxes lined up. Ron read the first few titles along the spine, blushed, and looked away.

"Wait, here's one… oh, no, this is Forrest Hump." Before Harry put the box back in its place, Ron caught a glimpse of a naked man on the front. "There are DVDs for guests at the inn. I'll grab one tomorrow and stop by… and I reckon I owe you lunch."

Ron nodded. It was less than what he wanted, but more than he had hoped for.

The next day Harry brought three movies and a bag of Chinese takeaway. The day after he returned with more movies and a chess board, which completely threw Ron over the edge of happiness.

Ron made lunch again and they played chess in between movies.

Muggle chess was boring, but since the concept was still the same, he bested Harry twice. Harry, stubborn and competitive as always, promised to be back the next day for a rematch.

Though Ron was very much enjoying this change in his days, it wasn't easy making conversation with Harry. Ron couldn't talk much about his life or anything that he knew, like Quidditch. When asked about his job, Ron said that he was in law enforcement and Harry became unexpectedly inquisitive. It was easy enough to alter some of his stories and leave out the magic bits. The story about the leprechaun, minus the leprechaun part, had Harry holding his sides laughing.

Making Harry laugh again was the best part of their days together and gradually Ron saw some of Harry's defensive shield lift.

Harry still hadn't stayed for dinner, but Ron was planning to go to the market during the weekend and pick up all of Harry's favourite foods in an attempt to entice him into staying.

Sleep still wasn't coming easy for Ron, but the telly helped. He fell asleep close to dawn Friday morning while watching a programme about cops and lawyers in New York City that seemed to be on twenty-four hours a day.

His mobile phone startled him awake and he had to search for it, swearing and begging it not to stop ringing before he got to it.

"Hi, Hermione!"

"Hello, Ron." He could tell by the tone of her voice that this was a serious call.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione launched right into the reason for her call. "Penelope found documents in Percy's desk. Well, really your Dad found them. Penelope's fallen behind in bills and he was helping her out. She's positive that she looked through the desk before and didn't see them. Even the Aurors missed them. Your Dad thinks that Percy spelled them to look like something else and over time they were restored to the original documents."

"Hermione!"

"Sorry! I was only trying to give you the background. They were in an envelope with Harry's name on the front. They were stolen documents from the Ministry. They're just more pieces of the puzzle, but they're big pieces and –"

"Hermione! Will you get to the point?"

"I was getting to the point! The documents definitely show that Scrimgeour was involved in something dishonest. There was a –"

"Wait," Ron interrupted. "Let me write this down." He grabbed a notepad and a pencil in the kitchen and sat down. "Go ahead."

"There was a statement for a Muggle Swiss bank account in Scrimgeour's name. It's worth over five million pounds!"

"Swiss? Why wouldn't he just put it in a local bank?"

"It's where Muggles hide their money." She continued without further explanation and Ron didn't ask for any; he trusted her to tell him what he needed to know. "And there was a memo from Scrimgeour to Robards requesting Harry for a special covert mission."

"Mission?" Ron dropped the pencil, got out of his seat, and began pacing. "What mission?"

"It didn't say."

"Was it dated?"

"Yes. The third of September two thousand and four."

"Harry never went on any missions without me, Hermione. I'd remember!"

"I know. Tonks checked the Auror records. Harry wasn't on any official mission without you around that time. But the third was a Friday. That Monday you took ill and left work early. You were out for two days."

Ron stopped, clenched his fists and released them, continuing it a few times before he remembered. "I remember! I had that dreadful stomach flu. I had to take those potions that made me drowsy, so I couldn't work. But… Harry… I can't remember what Harry said he did, but it couldn't have been anything exciting or I would've remembered."

"Tonks said the records show him as never leaving the office."

"D'you reckon Scrimgeour changed them?"

"It's possible." Hermione coughed. "I've considered that he asked Percy to get involved in this and help him, but Percy either declined or went along with it and began collecting this evidence."

"Percy wouldn't decline. At least not at first."

"Ron, there's more."

Ron's stomach dropped. "More?"

"A letter from someone within the _Foreign and Commonwealth Office_ thanking the Minister for his help in Syria."

"Syria? What in bloody hell does Syria have to do with the other stuff?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, sounding tired. "Syria is always in some sort of turmoil. Your Dad only found the records early this morning. I'm going to the library today to research events that occurred there around that time."

"I don't believe this!" Ron started to pace angrily. "Penelope had these documents the entire time! I don't believe it!"

"It's not her fault, Ron! She's had other things on her mind. Percy was trying to conceal them for a reason – a good one and it worked. If the Aurors had found them, they would've handed them over and Scrimgeour would've destroyed them. "

Ron had paced himself back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. "You're right. You'll let me know as soon as you find out anything?"

"I will. Are you spending time with Harry today?"

Ron's mind had drifted off, thinking about everything that Hermione had told him and she had to repeat the question.

"Yes. In fact, he should be here any minute."

"I'll call you later," Hermione said and took a deep breath. "This is important stuff, Ron. Percy died because he knew what was going on. This isn't just about bringing Harry back. We owe it to Percy."

"I know," Ron said softly and choked back the grief that he hadn't let himself feel since the day they found Percy dead and Harry missing.

"Bye, Ron. I love you."

Surprised, but pleased by her declaration of affection, Ron smiled. "I love you, too."

"Want to watch another movie?" Harry asked. The DVD ejected from the player and he carefully put it back in the box.

Ron, who had stood up to stretch his legs, looked out the window at the beautiful crystal clear sky. "Bloody hell, no," he said exasperatedly. "I'm going barmy in here, mate. Let's eat lunch and take a walk."

He braced himself for Harry to say no. For a moment, it looked like he was right, but then Harry smiled and shrugged. "Some fresh air would be nice."

"It's warm out there too," Ron said still trying to convince Harry even though he had said yes. He stepped outside and came back. "We don't even need coats! But you'll need a sweatshirt or a jumper." Ron jogged into the bedroom and came back with two sweatshirts. He threw a black one with a hood at Harry and slipped the blue one over his head.

Harry and Ron walked along Main Street. A few men walked by and greeted Harry. Each time, Ron felt resentful, until Harry shared their names and how he had met them and Harry's openness took away some of the jealousy.

The restaurant Harry took him was named _'Sunflowers.'_ They had to walk through a quaint alley with ivy-laced brick walls that led to the indoor eating area. Past that, Ron could see a garden with a few small café tables. A host greeted them and Harry asked for a table outside.

"Here. You'll need this," the host said putting a lime green plastic gun on the table.

He left and Ron looked at Harry. "What would we need that for?"

Harry smirked. "It's a water gun." He looked up at the trees. "You'll see."

The menu was extensive and Ron looked over the salads and sandwiches. When the waiter appeared, he couldn't decide between a Thai chicken wrap or an Asian sausage wrap.

"We could get both and share," Harry suggested.

While waiting for their meals, they chatted about the weekend and who was doing what.

"Shawn'll probably be scarce," Harry said. "He really fancies Mark."

"Is what Scott said true about Mark breaking Shawn's heart before?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Mark's not a bad bloke. It's just hard to be different when everyone expects you to be like them. He didn't want to hurt his wife."

"You didn't answer my question."

"He broke his heart. Shawn was… well, he fell apart for a while."

Ron scowled and silently vowed that Mark would come down with a nasty case of boils in a very private area if he did it again.

The waiter showed up with their food and Ron took half of the sausage wrap first. As he was taking his first bite, the tree branch above them rattled and he looked up to see a squirrel hanging upside down eyeing his food. 

"What in bloody hell?"

Laughing, Harry picked up the water gun, aimed it at the squirrel, and pulled the trigger. A stream of water burst out of the tip and hit the squirrel on the side. It made a strange angry clicking noise and ran back up the branch. Ron could still see him, sitting there waiting for a chance to make another move.

Harry waved the gun in Ron's face. "And that's why we need that."

"Brilliant!" Ron said. It was a pathetic attempt at excitement, but Ron moved the gun closer to him so he could have the next shot.

As they ate, Harry and Ron took turns firing water at the persistent squirrel that Ron had named Filch and wished desperately that Harry got the joke.

"Stay for pudding?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said soberly, remembering what was on the afters menu: New York Style Cheesecake, pumpkin pie, and apple cobbler.

"What's wrong?"

Ron shrugged. "Feeling homesick, I reckon. I miss treacle tart."

Harry's eyes lit up and he nodded. "There's…" He paused. "We can stop at the coffee shop instead for a cup and walk along the canal."

"That sounds good."

They split the bill and left.

Fifteen minutes later, they approached the canal with cups of steaming coffee in their hands. At the entrance, Ron stopped to read a plaque explaining the canal system that was used to transport coal from Pennsylvania to New Jersey. They walked away and when Ron started to walk left, Harry grabbed his elbow and led him to the right.

"The towpaths are over here."

The towpaths were trails where people were walking, riding bikes, and running. The trees that a few weeks ago were filled with vibrant autumn colours were almost bare and the leaves that had fallen were swirling around their feet as they walked.

Harry's fingers skimmed over Ron's forearm. "This was a brilliant idea, mate. The weather's great. I was going a bit mental myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled brightly. "And the company isn't bad either."

Ron's face flooded with heat and his step faltered. If it wasn't Harry, he'd have thought he was being flirted with.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't," Ron replied swiftly.

"Good."

They walked on, sipping their coffees and talking about the area.

"I have to admit," Ron said, "I didn't know what to expect of America. I sort of pictured it with taller buildings and a lot of rubbish in the streets."

Harry chuckled. "The cities are like that. Jim took me to Philadelphia once and I didn't like it much."

Without thinking about the consequences, Ron blurted out what he was thinking. "Is that why you stayed here - because of Jim?" As soon as he asked, he bit his lip, hoping that he hadn't just ruined a perfect day.

"New Hope or America?"

Ron's gaze swept past Harry's placid face and he relaxed. "What?"

"Stayed where – here in New Hope or here in America?"

"Um… I dunno. Both?"

"At first, I stayed in New Hope because I met Jim… and the others. I reckon I kept on staying because I like it here."

"Oh…"

"I reckon we should turn back," Harry said, throwing his coffee cup in a nearby rubbish bin.

"Okay."

The walk back was quieter and Ron mulled the day over in his mind. Harry had still been elusive, but the most open that he had been since Ron found him.

They reached Nobody's and stopped to talk to Marty. By the time they said good-bye and started back for the guest houses, Ron's stomach was rumbling, warning him that it was close to dinner.

The sun was dropping and the temperature was following. As they approached Ron's door, he heard a loud, deep honking noise from the sky and he stopped and looked up. A skein of geese were flying overhead.

"I wonder what it'd be like to fly," Harry said.

Ron glanced at Harry who was looking up longingly at the sky. Ron titled his face upwards, closed his eyes, and he went back to the last time he was on a broom flying around the Burrow.

"It's brilliant," Ron said quietly. "You feel… you feel small looking down at the world that seems never ending because you can see so far. But at the same time you feel free and in total control, like you can do anything that you want if only you can fly faster and higher. On a clear day, you see the colour of the sky in a way you'd never see from the ground. Even when it's raining, it's still brilliant. The wind and the rain beating down on your face… it's – it's like you realize for the first time that you're two parts – body _and_ soul."

Ron opened his eyes and looked at Harry, who still had that same look of longing, but was looking at him now instead of the sky. The odd feeling Ron had felt in the clothes shop was back. "Um…" He swallowed hard and stuffed his cold hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. "I imagine that's what it would be like."

"You've thought about this, have you?"

"Just a bit, yeah."

There was a long silence and Ron felt unexplainably very nervous, like he was about to jump off a cliff and he knew that he would be both exciting and dangerous at the same time.

Harry cleared his throat. "Would you like to go for a meal? There's an authentic English pub across the bridge in Lambertville. The bloke who owns it is from London, so it's not one of those pathetic American imitations."

Harry had said it all very fast and Ron blinked, bewildered, his brain in a tizzy. "Dinner? D'ya mean _now_? _Tonight_?"

Behind the his glasses, Harry looked at Ron owlishly as he half-laughed and fiddled with the hoodstring on the sweatshirt that he had borrowed from Ron. "Yes. Tonight."

"Yes, I would," Ron said. He jerked his head towards the door. "I have to ring up a friend first."

"An hour enough time?"

"Yes."

"See you later, then," Harry said.

Smiling uncontrollably, Ron watched Harry walking away. Harry got to his door, turned and looked back. He gave a small wave before disappearing inside.

Ron reached for the door and paused when a thought suddenly struck him - _did Harry just ask me on a date?_

_**TBC**_


	11. A New Memory

**Chapter Eleven - A New Memory**

Hermione wasn't answering her mobile. Ron pictured her stashed away in a library, her hair wild and uncombed, bent over a desk with books and newspapers spread out around her as she scribbled notes furiously in her favourite leather-bound notebook.

It didn't take him long to change his clothes and, with forty-five minutes to spare, he had nothing left to do except simultaneously worrying and pacing.

"A date. It can't be a date," Ron mumbled to himself. He looked at Ginger perched on the back of the sofa, and asked her, "Do I want it to be a date?"

He wasn't hopelessly clueless. He knew the internal pull he had been feeling towards Harry was an attraction. A much unwanted, unnecessary, and inappropriately timed attraction.

Of course he wanted Harry. It was _Harry_ – _his_ Harry. Ron couldn't think of anyone who would kick Harry Potter out of bed for eating crisps. That was the real issue - if Harry could have anyone he wanted, why would he want Ron? They'd been friends for years; if Harry wanted him, he would've known it long before now.

But what if Harry Weasley wanted him? Harry Weasley had different memories than Harry Potter and to him, Ron was a stranger. Just some new bloke in town. It was possible that this new Harry wanted him. Harry Weasley thought himself ordinary, so maybe he wanted someone ordinary like Ron.

"I couldn't…" He looked at Ginger again. "Could I?"

She gave him a look of contempt and jumped off the sofa. "You're right," he said, knowing that he couldn't take advantage of Harry's mental state. It would be wrong and he heard Hermione's voice niggling in the back of his mind, threatening to kill him or hack off his bits if he laid one hand on Harry.

Ron reminded himself that he was a professional. A trained Auror. He had to act as if this was any other mission and, though he was already emotionally involved – Harry being his best mate and all – he couldn't complicate the situation any further without jeopardizing the assignment.

Besides, he'd never shagged a man. It didn't take much to stretch his imagination and work out what went where, but maybe he was wrong. A lot of the pieces didn't seem like they would fit.

He could… he stopped in front of the telly. He could just see for himself.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the cabinet and pulled out the first DVD that he saw.

The movie that he selected had two men on the front and one reminded him very much of Oliver Wood. Deciding that it would do just fine, he opened the door on front of the silver machine and nervously looked back to check the clock; he had fifteen minutes.

Lucky for him, the two blokes in the movie, after a few minutes of awkward small talk, began kissing and groping each other. A few more moments of that and one bloke was naked and the other moving downwards. Ron knew exactly where this was headed and the thought of him and Harry doing this had a pool of heat spreading in his groin. He reached inside his jeans and adjusted himself.

Though extremely interested in watching the oral gratification scene, Ron didn't require an education in it. He had been on the receiving end enough to know what to do if he was on the giving end.

He skipped forward like Harry had shown him and he got exactly what he'd wanted. They were shagging standing up. The smaller man leaning forward with his hands pressed against the wall as the Wood look alike held his hips and pounded into him.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door just as the actors started screaming."Fuck!" he rushed toward the DVD player and scrambled to shut it off. In his haste, he hit the wrong button, the scene changed, and the room flooded with sounds of, _'I'm coming! I'm coming!'_

"I'm coming!" Ron yelled. "Be right there!"

He turned the telly off, but the pornographic sounds kept emitting from the large speakers next to the television.

The knocking at the door started again, louder and more insistent, and in his flustered state, Ron couldn't remember if he had locked the door. There was only one thing he thought of doing. He ran to the electrical outlet and ripped out the plugs. The sounds halted and Ron almost fainted in relief.

Now he wished that he could unplug his own arousal. Before answering the door, he put on his heavy winter coat and breathed a sigh of relief when it hid his obvious erection.

Trying to mask his panic, Ron opened the door smiling broadly. "Hi. Hi. Thanks for waiting. I was just –"

"What were you watching on the telly?" Harry asked, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Oh… that." Ron waved his hand dismissively. "I dunno. I wasn't paying attention."

"Um, okay."

They left for dinner, Harry biting his bottom lip, obviously trying not to laugh and Ron wondering if wanking in the loo at the restaurant was a possibility.

The pub, _Beer & A Banger_, was spilt into two parts. The pub took up the front half of the building and in the rear was a restaurant. Harry and Ron entered through a door in the back and Harry gave his name to the host, who led them to a table for two by the fireplace.

As they sat down, Harry answered Ron's silent question. "I rang ahead and made reservations."

The waiter immediately appeared with menus and a pitcher of water. Ron opened his menu and gasped. "They have Devon sausages! I'll have bangers and mash, please."

"Okay, sir… uh…" The waiter looked annoyed. "If you just give me a minute."

Harry scowled defiantly at the waiter. "And I'll have steak and kidney pie."

"Sure, sir." The young man nodded respectively. "Bangers and Mash and steak and kidney pie?" Harry and Ron confirmed by nodding. "I'll put your order in right away. Would you care for something from the bar?"

"Two pints of Guinness," Harry said.

The waiter seemed to become overly attentive as they waited for their meals, refilling their water or getting them fresh pints a few seconds after their glasses were emptied. Ron smiled at Harry, knowing that it was Harry's notorious charismatic influence on people.

"What?" Harry asked when he saw Ron's smile.

"Nothing."

The meal was perfect and Ron ate it record time, leaving him done first. He glanced around the room. The restaurant's atmosphere was very masculine and didn't seem to Ron to be romantic at all. There were a few couples at the table, but there were also tables of friends and families.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Harry only asked him as a friend.

_'Of course, he did,'_ Ron thought. _'I'm daft to think Harry, in any form, would want me?'_

His negative internal thoughts must've been reflected in his face because Harry tapped the back of his hand until Ron looked up at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yep. I'm fine."

"Feeling homesick?"

"Not so much now."

"The sausages were they –"

"They were excellent," Ron said, grinning and rubbing his belly.

As the waiter cleared their dinner plates, without consulting Ron, Harry asked for two orders of treacle tart and two cups of tea.

"You said the bloke who runs the place is British?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. His wife is an American. They met while she was travelling through England and fell in love."

"So why are they living here, then?"

Harry's smile was reflective, the sort of smile one gets when they are thinking about something that warms their heart. "I reckon he loved her enough to travel across an ocean to be with her."

The waiter arrived at that moment with the treacle tart and Ron's mouth began to water. "Well, lucky for us he did, eh?"

At the first bite, Ron was in heaven. He inwardly admitted that it was even better than his mum's.

"So you're from Devon, then?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded. "Just outside the village of Ottery St Catchpole."

Expecting a bit more of conversation, Ron watched and waited for Harry to talk about his invented past, but Harry just took a bite of his treacle tart.

The waiter returned with the bill and Harry took it off the table.

"How much?" Ron asked, leaning over the table trying to see the bill.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, lifting the black leather folder so Ron couldn't see it.

"What d'ya mean?"

"I asked you. So I'm paying."

_'Oh Merlin, it's a date!'_

"Thanks," Ron said and attempted to will himself not to blush, though the warmth spreading through his ears told him that he had not succeed.

Harry suggested they go into the pub, which was crowded with patrons, but they were able to secure two stools at the bar. They ordered more Guinness and Harry turned to watch the telly mounted in the corner, high above the bar. Ron studied his best mate's profile and he felt another overwhelming pull of attraction again.

Trying to rid himself of the feeling, Ron decided to get them talking again. "Do you come here often?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes. When I'm feeling homesick too."

"It was brilliant, mate. Why didn't you tell me about it sooner?"

"Because…" Harry smiled devilishly. "I only bring special people here."

"So you've brought Jim here?" Ron asked and immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead.

"Actually, no." Harry waved at the bartender and pointed towards his empty glass. "Jim brought _me_ here."

"Oh…"

"Listen… maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree, but if you fancy Jim then –"

Ron choked on the mouthful of Guinness he was attempting to swallow. "I-I-I don't fancy Jim!"

"I thought… because you keep mentioning him. I just told you that I thought you were special and _you_ mentioned Jim."

"I… you're the one that's in love with Jim… are you sure… are you sure you think I'm special?"

Harry looked shocked. "I'm not in love with Jim! We dated and it didn't work out and now we don't. It's that simple." His face changed and he smiled. "And –"

Ron's mobile, shoved in the pocket of his coat, rung, cutting Harry off.

"Mate, I'm sorry," Ron said, standing up. "I've got to answer this." He waved as he ran off, answering the phone as soon as he was outside. "Hermione?"

"Hi," she said, sounding tired.

"I can't talk for long. I'm at a pub with Harry. What -"

"Is he there with you?"

"No. He's inside. I'm outside. What did you find out?"

"Nothing. Too much. Not enough."

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She sighed. "I'm just tired. I went to a Muggle library and researched everything that I could about significant events in Syria in the last two years."

"And nothing happened?" Ron asked, glancing back inside. Harry was still sitting at the bar, sipping his beer.

"Plenty happened. There's always something going on in Syria, but nothing that I could link back to Harry or Scrimgeour or the wizarding world! I searched on the internet and all of the major newspapers." She sounded close to tears. "And The Prophet isn't going to report anything about Muggles!"

"Hermione, it's okay."

"It's not." She let out a choked sob. "There's something there, Ron, and I just can't find it and we're running out of time. They're going to get suspicious if you don't go back to work soon and Harry's not getting any better and I miss you both so much and if Scrimgeour and his cronies find the two of you before..."

Closing his eyes, Ron pictured him and Hermione sitting in their kitchen a few feet away from each other. In his mind, he grabbed her hands and held them tightly between his like he had done so many times during the war. "It's okay. If there is something there, _you'll_ find it. You always do. You need a cuppa and a good night's sleep."

"Thank you. You…" She sniffled and blew her nose. "You have to get back to Harry."

"Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Sleep. Please."

"I will. I promise. Good night, Ron."

"Night, Hermione."

Ron slipped the mobile back into his pocket and rejoined Harry.

"Was that your wife?" Harry asked as Ron slid onto the stool.

"What? No!"

"Just checking," Harry said. "You coming all the way to America and staying unexpectedly - sometimes blokes when they're curious…"

"I'm not married."

"Good. Getting back to what we were talking about…" Harry swung his legs around so that he was facing Ron. "As I was saying, yes… yes, I think you're special. And I thought you might have returned the feeling."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you think that?"

Harry's fingers lightly trailed down Ron's thigh. "Because you wore these jeans."

Ron couldn't deny it. He had thought about Harry's complimentary reaction to the jeans when he had decided to wear them tonight.

"I…" Ron stared into his glass, trying to hide his crimson cheeks.

"You're blushing again," Harry said benignly. "I think it's –"

"Pathetic," Ron said, half-laughing.

"Don't do that," Harry said sharply. "Don't put yourself down." He squeezed Ron's knee. "I was going to say that I think it's charming."

Ron lifted his head and, for a brief moment, he pretended that it was his Harry sitting there looking back at him with complete sincerity.

"I –" he began to protest, to makeup an excuse about leaving soon or tell Harry the truth that he'd never so much as kissed a bloke before, but Harry interrupted him.

"Let's get out of here," Harry suggested and jumped off his stool before Ron could protest.

Without a word, Ron followed him out the door and they walked side-by-side quietly to the car. He was thinking of all the ways to let Harry down easy, wanting to avoid alienating him and keep the relationship they had developed intact.

They reached the car, Ron heard the locks click, and Harry brushed past him. "I'll get that for you," Harry said, reaching for the door handle.

Harry's act of chivalry made Ron laugh out loud. "Mate, you don't have to charm me."

"I don't?" Harry said in a deep flirtatious voice that made Ron stop before climbing in the seat.

He turned around. Only the door separated them. "Harry, I'm…"

"You're…" Harry reached up and cupped Ron's jaw in his palm, running his thumb along the cheek. "You're blushing again."

"Harry, please, listen…" Ron said. His voice high and crackly, pleading, though deep down, he knew that it was in vain. Harry was stubborn when he wanted something and as his face inched closer to Ron's and his hand slid behind the hair on Ron's neck, it was unmistakably clear that he wanted Ron.

With a tender tug, Harry pulled Ron forward. They grew closer. Ron had a spilt second to put a stop to it, but he didn't. Instinctually he leaned downward as Harry tilted his face to the side. Their lips met briefly; then Harry pulled away, gently sucking on Ron's bottom lip as did.

Their eyes, only a few inches apart, locked. All of Ron's excuses wandered off, deep into the back of his mind, and he could only think of one word – _more_.

Harry must've read his mind because in the blink of an eye, Ron was yanked and pushed until his back rested against the rear door of the car. Harry kissed him again, this time so hard that his glasses dug into Ron's cheek.

Feeling a swell of raw, severe emotion, Ron grabbed the back of Harry's head and kissed back. Harry moaned and leaned forward, pressing all of his weight against Ron.

They kissed for a long time, their tongues rolling desperately over each other, the smell of beer filling Ron's nostril each time they shifted, and the strange, yet undeniably exotic feeling and sound of their stubble scraping against each other sent shivers of arousal through his body.

It was as wonderful as Ron had imagined it. Harry kissed like he did everything else, without fear and a bit dangerously, nipping and biting Ron's lip and tongue, until he was hard and aching. Ron thought he could feel Harry just as hard, but it could've been the edge of his thick winter coat that was unnecessary in the unseasonably mild weather. Harry must've been thinking the same thing, because, without breaking the kiss, he unbuttoned Ron's coat and slid his hands inside and around Ron's waist.

Something inside Ron shifted and the powerful lust he had been feeling depleted just enough to let something else through. This was Harry he was kissing. Harry who he had devoted his life and had given him practically all of himself, and now, he was giving him the last thing he had to give – his heart.

Ron cupped Harry's face in his palms and slowed the kiss down, savouring the way Harry's bottom lip, thicker than the top, fit perfectly between his lips that were the opposite.

"Get a room!" Ron heard someone shout, followed by laughing. He paused for a moment and chuckled against Harry's mouth, but Harry wasn't laughing.

Harry pulled back and, though Ron couldn't see his eyes through his glasses that had fogged up during their steamy kiss, he could tell by the slight frown that the wheels in Harry's head were spinning.

Gradually the cool wind cleared the cloud from Harry's lenses and Ron could see sober green eyes looking back at him. He knew that look and it wasn't good.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

_'Blimey, he's gone completely mental._' "I'm Ron," he said, uneasily.

"I know that," Harry said, annoyed. "But who are you? What are you doing here? You're… you're _different_. You don't ask any questions. You've never even asked me about my scar!" Harry tapped the middle of his forehead. "_Everyone_ asks me about it. Or this!" He held out his right hand and waved in front of Ron's face. "I know you saw it that night at Nobody's. I saw you looking at it."

"I just…" _'Think fast, Weasley!'_ "You asked me about my scars and I don't like to talk about it. I reckoned you felt the same."

Harry didn't look satisfied. "And you kiss me like you mean it!" He was getting severely agitated now.

"Harry," Ron said gently and reached out to hold his forearm, hoping they could just get back to the kissing. "I do mean it. You were right. I did wear these jeans, thinking about you and –"

"No. I meant, you _mean_ it. You kiss me as if you _love_ me and that's impossible! We've only just met!"

Ron laughed maniacally out of utter frustration, both sexual and emotional. _'All these years – all these fucking years,'_ he thought, _'and this is when I figure out that I'm in love with Harry. When he's gone fucking mad!'_

"Let's go," Harry said, eyeing Ron like he was the mental one. "Maybe we need to slow this down a bit."

"No, mate," Ron said bitterly as he climbed into the car, his anger at the situation escalating quickly. "I think this was a bad idea. I'm leaving soon anyway."

"Right. Fine," Harry said, going around to the other side of the car.

They drove away and back towards New Hope in silence. Only once Ron dared to look at Harry, seeing that Harry looked hurt, and Ron seethed, questioning what gave Harry the right to be upset. He was going to forget about their kiss once he got his memory back and Ron was the one who was going to remember it for the rest of his life.

_**TBC**_


	12. A New Terror

**Chapter Twelve - A New Terror**

Ginger meowed impatiently and pawed at Ron's nose, unhappy that he hadn't left the bed in over sixteen hours. He groaned and rolled over. She accepted the challenge in her relentless pursuit for food, jumped to the other side of him, and began to emit an annoying yowl that sent shivers down Ron's back. 

"Stop it!" he yelled as her nail speared his cheek. "All right! I'll feed you. Bloody stubborn cat."

Ron followed Ginger's bushy tail into the kitchen and took care of her before grabbing a bag of crisps for himself. He sat at the table, dripping crumbs on his sleep-wrinkled t-shirt as he ate them absentmindedly. He couldn't stop thinking about last night. It was his fault for getting so caught up in the kiss.

It had been so easy to store his feelings for Harry deep within his heart when he'd thought that Harry wouldn't be interested. All day he had lain in bed, trying to push them back or rip them out. It had been impossible; they were out there now and it left Ron with only his own thoughts and the memory of the kiss to gnaw at him and shroud him with more than enough misery to wallow in.

After devouring her food, Ginger jumped on the table and rubbed lovingly across his chest, for once seeming to care about his feelings.

"I'll be okay, girl," he said, scratching below her favourite spot below her chin and managing a smile.

The light through the kitchen window glowed a deep orange, telling Ron that it was almost night and he wondered if he should bother dressing and going to Nobody's.

Just as he decided to try and fix the television instead, the doorbell rang, surprising him. _'Harry!'_ he thought instinctively.

"Harry, I'm coming," he called out as he jogged to the door while blindly attempting to flatten his hair.

Ron unlocked and opened the door. "I'm so glad you…" His voice trailed off as he saw that it wasn't Harry standing there. "Merlin! What are you…?"

Luna Lovegood stood in front him, looking calm and cool as if she were stopping by for a cuppa and a chat on an ordinary day. Her hair had grown longer since he last saw her and it hung loosely down to her waist. She wore black jeans, yellow trainers, and a bright blue jumper with large shimmering silver stars around the collar.

He looked out the door twisting his head left and right, making sure no one was around and pulled her into the house. "Luna, what – what are you doing here?"

"Hi, Ronald," she said. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek, seemingly unnerved by his rude reception. She began to brush the crumbs off the front of his shirt. "How are you? You look ill. Are you ill?"

"I'm fine. What are you –"

"Why do you have blood on your cheek?"

Ron reached up and touched the spot where Ginger had scratched him. "It's nothing, It was the –"

"Oh, look at the kitty." Ginger had arrived to inspect the new guest. Luna knelt down, reached into her pocket, pulled out a cat treat and fed it to her. Ron couldn't imagine what Luna was doing with cat treats in her pocket, but Ginger didn't mind and immediately Luna became her new best friend. "She's sweet, isn't she? Will you miss her once you've gone?"

"Er…" Ron scratched his head. Luna made him feel like his brain wasn't working right. "I… yeah, I reckon."

"Maybe her owner will let you bring her back to England with you. He abandoned her, didn't he? So I don't think he'll mind."

"Luna, how do you know all this?"

"Oh, Hermione briefed me. She sent me here to help you."

"Hermione… help me? Why didn't she just ring me?"

"I came right after I spoke with her." Luna looked around. "It had to be difficult for her to seek out my help. Hermione doesn't think much of my work." Before Ron could respond, not that he had anything to say in response to Luna's brutal honesty, she asked, "Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"

"Luna, listen, Harry's living a few houses away. In case you see him, you need to know that he doesn't –"

"Remember any of us. Yes. That makes me sad. He was a good friend."

"It's just temporary," Ron said defensively.

Luna nodded solemnly.

"Let's sit down," Ron said.

"Don't worry, Ronald. I'm used to being around all sorts of Muggles in my line of work."

They sat down and Ginger joined them, sniffing Luna's pocket. "More for you later," she promised.

"Why are you here?" Ron asked.

"Hermione came across an article in _The Quibbler_ and contacted me."

"Why?"

"Because I wrote it," Luna said matter-of-factly.

"No. I meant…" Ron shook his head. "What was the article about?"

"Syria."

"Syria?" 

"Yes. I went to Syria to research rumours father and I heard while in Jordan searching for Wingededdgits. Have you ever seen a Wingededdgit?"

"Wing-what's-its?"

"Nasty creatures that live in desert areas and suck –"

"Luna, can I get you something to drink?" asked Ron, trying to politely stop her from straying too far away from the point.

"Oh, that'd be lovely."

They stood and she followed him into the kitchen.

"Tea?" asked Ron.

"Please," she said, sitting down with enough room between her and the table so Ginger could sit in her lap. "Where was I?"

"_The Quibbler_ ran a story about Syria. Why Syria? What happened there?"

"Yes, that was it! Well, I really should be getting to the point. A small wizarding community there was massacred in their sleep by Muggles."

"Bloody hell!" Ron said, dropping the kettle in his hand. The bang it made as it fell on the hob sent Ginger running out of the room. "Muggles? Why would they do that?"

"I reckoned we'd work that out during my visit."

"How did they kill them?"

"They surprised them in their sleep. They had guns."

The vision of it struck Ron so hard that he shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. "All of them," he whispered.

"Some managed to Apparate out of there, but not enough."

"You found them?"

"Yes, I –"

"Wait!" Ron furrowed his brow, still obsessing about how a slaughter like that could occur. "How did the Muggles find them? Weren't they hidden?"

Luna nodded. "The survivors assured me that their charms were tight. I believe that whoever alerted the Muggles gave them the exact location. Because the Muggles knew where and what they were looking for, they were able to see it. Hermione agrees with me."

Forgetting about the tea, Ron sat down across from Luna, leaning forward and looking at her intently. "Any ideas who...?"

"I have theories," Luna said. "Ronald, do you know anything about world politics?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't like politics or politicians."

"Okay, I'll keep it simple then."

"Simple? I'm not an idiot, Luna!"

"I didn't say that you were," Luna said, looking unfazed by Ron's outburst. "I know you are very smart, Ronald. It's the politics that are stupid… and complex and it would take months, even years, for anyone to learn the history behind the conflicts in the Middle East."

He bowed his head, embarrassed that he had snapped at her. "S'ry."

"You're forgiven. I understand how hard this is for you. I know how much you care about Harry." She moved on quickly, explaining about oil, the Muggles dependency on it, and how the Middle East controlled it. She told him of the fighting that had been going on for centuries between Middle Eastern countries because of religion, ethnicity, and the control of land. Ron paid attention and halfway through, grabbed his notebook and began taking notes about the current war in Iraq and Syria's involvement in it.

"Syria was providing weapons to the Iraq insurgents. Relations with the United States were destroyed and the European Union put an embargo in effect. That was until the President died and –"

"How'd he –" The water began to boil and the kettle whistled loudly. He got up to shut it off and as he served the tea, he finished his question. "How'd he die?"

"The official cause of death was natural causes. After he died and the Vice-President took office, they ceased providing weapons and Syria began trading with the European Union again."

Ron took a deep breath and tapped his pencil on the notebook. "Luna…" The point broke on his pencil, he swore, and flung it across the room. "Luna, I don't understand what any of this has to do with Harry!"

"After father and I heard about the tragedy, I went to Syria to the area where the wizarding community lived. It is now inhabited by Iraq refugees who fled their country because of the war. I talked to a few of them – I speak several languages, you know. A group of children told me about a _'magic man'_ who appeared out of…" She snapped her fingers. "Thin air."

"A wizard who Apparated," Ron said.

She snapped her fingers two times. "Then disappeared into thin air." 

"Disapparated."

"No."

"No?"

"The children told me there were footprints in the sand."

"Invisibility cloak!"

"Of course there are wizards who don't need a cloak to become invisible, but I'm sure that it was Harry. They said he was a jinni who bore a mark of God." She pointed to the middle of her forehead.

"A jinni?"

"In Islam, they believe them to be supernatural beings. Like angels, but with free-will. They believe that Shaitan – Satan - was a jinn."

If it the situation wasn't so buggered, he would've laughed his head off. Instead he just chuckled, but it was devoid of any real humour because he couldn't believe that Harry had known about all of this and didn't tell him.

Ron put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his hands. "When was Harry there?"

"I can't give you an exact date, but I gathered it was around the middle of September."

Ron got up and began pacing. "Why didn't you tell us, Luna? This is important! All the time Harry's been missing? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why don't you and Hermione read _The Quibbler_?"

"I... er… well, I…"

She waved her hand and relieved him of his embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Ronald. I assumed he was there on official Ministry business. Why did he do that?"

"I don't know! I don't bloody hell know why he went to Syria! The Minister sent him and he didn't tell me!"

"I meant why did he join the Ministry? The Ministry lies. They hide things from the public. I remember a time when he hated that."

"I…" Luna had just asked a question that Ron had never bothered to ask Harry or himself and suddenly he felt very stupid.

He couldn't answer the question because he didn't know why. Only Hermione had taken a year off after school to decide what she wanted to do. Harry and he had joined the Aurors immediately. Harry had said it was what he always wanted to do, so they did it, never stopping to ask themselves why. In hindsight, Ron thought that he should've questioned a lot of things.

"I dunno," he said as he sat back down. He pulled out his wand and summoned another pencil, which flew into the room with Ginger prancing behind it. "September…" Ron said slowly, writing it down under _'President dead.'_ "When did the President die?"

"The eighteenth of September."

Ron jotted it down. "He didn't tell Hermione or me," he mumbled.

"Keeping secrets between friends is not a good thing," Luna said, staring at him, unblinking.

"No, it's not."

"Unless Harry was trying to protect you. Sometimes he doesn't think things through. He thinks he needs to do things alone."

Luna was right about that. Harry had a history of holding things in before sharing them with his friends.

The shiny stars on Luna's jumper caught Ginger's eye. She pounced on the table and pawed them curiously.

"Do you want to play with them?" Luna asked. She took out her wand, gestured at her jumper, and three stars leapt off. They hovered in the air above the table. Ginger watched, captivated. Slowly Luna waved her hand and the stars began to dance in the air. Ginger sprung upward trying to catch them. Once Luna knew she had Ginger hooked in, she sent the stars flying toward an open space in the room and the cat followed. The stars fell and rose, always just out of Ginger's reach.

It was adorable, but not enough to lift Ron's spirits and take away the fear growing in his chest.

"What else, Luna?"

"I found the survivors that had escaped, they were hiding in Jordan. Harry had found them too. They said he told them that he was there to investigate the massacre."

"When was this?"

"Middle of September as well. They couldn't give an exact date either."

"And when were the wizards and witches killed?"

"The second of September."

Ron wrote it down and underneath he added, _'The day before Harry requested for mission.'_

Only one thing didn't fit. "Why is the President's death significant?"

"It shifted politics, Ronald."

"But he wasn't murdered. People just _die_ all the time."

Her face turned more serious than he could've ever had imagined from her. "I reckon it would look that way to a Muggle."

"What are you saying? You don't think…?"

"Yes, I do. So does Hermione. A Muggle doctor would never be able to conclude that someone was killed with Avada Kedavra and no one would be accused of murdering him. An assassination could've started another war."

"Retaliation for the attack on a magical community or…" Something in Ron's head clicked and his blood turned cold. "The money in Scrimgeour's bank account… Muggle money. He's…" Ron stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. His hands trembled as he set it upright. "Of course he is! Why would he take money from Muggles unless he was in cahoots with them?"

"That's one of my theories," she said, her eyes following him as he walked back and forth.

He could easily imagine some of the others and they probably involved magical creatures that had never been proven to exist. He didn't have time to hear them. This was unreal and Harry had been involved in it. Harry had found out that Scrimgeour had the Muggle President killed and a thousand more questions entered his mind to replace the few that Luna had answered for him.

"The wizarding community…" Ron stood still, holding his breath, a tiny part of him hoping that after he said what he was about to say, Luna would laugh and tell him that he was being ridiculous. "Only a witch or wizard could've known where they were. That means someone – a witch or a wizard - told the Muggles."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes, Ronald. I'm afraid that appears to be the only reasonable explanation."

"Reasonable?" he shouted. "Nothing about this is reasonable, Luna! And since when are you _reasonable_?" He had changed his mind. Right now he longed to hear one of her mental theories. He wanted to believe anything but this.

"I should be going, Ronald," Luna said, standing up and ignoring his questions. "I can't say that I enjoyed our visit, but I enjoyed seeing you."

Much to Ginger's dismay, she waved the stars back onto her sweater.

"I didn't ask you how you got here!" Ron said. "Did McGonagall get you a Portkey?"

"Oh no. I created my own."

"Are you going back to London?"

She smiled dreamily. "No… I think I'll visit the state of New Jersey. I've always wanted to meet _The Jersey Devil_."

"Oh." he wasn't going to ask.

Luna approached him and he pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you for…" 

"I'm sorry that it wasn't better news." She pulled away, but not before kissing his cheek again. "Hermione'll ring you after she's had a good night's sleep. She was exhausted when I saw her, but too distraught to go to bed. So I put a spot of sleeping potion in her tea."

"She's going to kill you!"

Luna only smiled. "Take care of yourself, Ronald. And Ginger. _And_ Harry. They need you."

Before he could respond, she was gone, confusing Ginger, who ran in circles in the empty spot Luna had occupied a second before.

There was no more time for games, he decided. Scrimgeour had alerted Muggles about Harry and they were going to keep hunting for Harry. Ron was certain it wasn't to talk to him. Scrimgeour wanted Harry dead.

Just like Percy. 

Scrimgeour or someone working with him killed his brother. Percy must've found out too and wasn't as lucky as Harry, who ran for his life. Anger, dangerous and paralysing, ripped through him, tangling up his emotions and filling his mind with thoughts of revenge.

"I'm going to kill him. That'll put a stop to this!"

He grabbed his mobile, about to ring Hermione and tell her there was only one thing they could do that would ensure Harry's safety when a sane thought wormed through the insanity trying to take over his mind: the Muggles were in on this too and probably other wizards, powerful ones. Killing Scrimgeour wouldn't solve the problem. They had to bring Scrimgeour down. Him, Hermione, and all of Harry's other friends. They had to expose the Minister and what he had done.

But first, Ron had to make things right between him and Harry. He had to stay close to him. It was the only way to protect him, even if that meant letting go and risking a broken heart when Harry forgot about them.

After a quick shower and putting on decent clothes that didn't have crisp crumbs all over them, Ron marched to Harry's house, looking more presentable and not like a depressed lunatic, and knocked on the door.

It took a moment for Harry to answer and Ron almost lost his nerve when he saw Harry standing there wearing only a pair of jeans and looking fresh out of the shower.

As soon as Harry realized that it was Ron, his face set into an angry, stubborn look and he crossed his arms. "Telly need to be fixed?" he asked bitterly.

"No. I…" Hoping that it would stop Harry from slamming the door in his face, Ron stepped forward so he was in the doorway and apologized sincerely even though he didn't know exactly what he was apologizing for. He had learnt that from his rows with Hermione.

Harry's face softened a bit. "S'kay. Just forget about it." He started to close the door, but Ron reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"I don't want to forget about it," Ron said, stepping even further in and sliding his hand down so it fit into Harry's. He squeezed Harry's hand gently. "I can't stop thinking about it… about you."

Neither of them moved. Harry's eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at Ron as if he were mad. He tried to remind himself that the person standing in front of him, the person who was about to reject him, wasn't really Harry.

"I'm sorry," Ron said. "I'm pants at this. We can just go back to being friends, eh?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Oh… I'll get going then."

"No," Harry repeated and yanked Ron into the house, slamming the door once he was inside and pushing his back against it. "What do you keep thinking about?"

"Er…" Ron blushed wildly. "That kiss."

"I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have… sometimes I… I couldn't stop thinking about it too." Harry, looking embarrassed, ran his thumb along Ron's hand. "So, you're still interested?"

Tired of wasting time, Ron let go of Harry's hand and grabbed his hips, pulling him flush against his body. "I am," he whispered, bending his head down and tentatively kissing Harry's lips.

"This is mad," Harry murmured before sliding his tongue between Ron's lips.

Ron sighed as their tongues met and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist as Harry wound his arms around his neck. Harry moaned and buried his hands in Ron's hair and the kiss gained serious momentum, their hands feverishly wandering over each other's backs and chests. It hadn't been a one time thing, Ron thought. Kissing Harry felt right and Ron felt surges of desire thundering through him like he had never felt before.

Harry broke away from Ron's lips and his kiss fanned out over Ron's jaw, ear, and down to his neck. He echoed his earlier sentiment, "This is mad," before sucking on the cords of Ron's neck. "I'm mad," he mumbled between licks and bites and he kept repeating it as he dragged Ron to the sofa, awkwardly stepping on each other's feet, until they fell onto it. Harry covered Ron's body with his. "Mad…" he murmured as his lips ravished Ron's neck and chest, his fingers showing the opposite affection and tenderly tracing circles on Ron's chest. "I just met you… I can't even remember your last name… but I can't stop thinking about you. And when I kiss you…" Harry moved until his lips hovered above Ron's. "I…" His lips fell on Ron's and Ron greedily accepted them. 

Ron awoke early in the morning, holding Harry tightly again him. Rubbing his cheek against the softness of Harry's hair, Ron wrapped himself up in his imagination, pretending that they were back in their real home in England, snuggling in Harry's bed. Afterwards they would go flying together, soaring into the sky and still not being able to reach how high they felt now that they officially belonged to each other.

Harry yawned and looked up, smiling when he saw Ron was awake.

"Morning," he said, his face gruff. "I forgot to ask. So what is it?"

"What's what?"

"Your last name?"

"Oh… Madison. Ron Madison," he answered and the delicate fantasy vanished.

_**TBC**_


	13. A New Feeling

**A New Feeling**

Ron stirred as ripples of hunger rolled through his stomach, tugging him out of his sleep. For a moment, he thought that the weight on his chest was Ginger, until Harry made a sleepy noise and slid his arm tighter around Ron's chest.

Smiling, he opened his eyes and looked down at Harry's hair. It was day, _probably afternoon_, Ron though, bright light streaming through the laces on the window and illuminating Harry's bed. A scent lingered in the air. It was entirely masculine, sweat and come mixed together producing an acidic salty aroma that triggered Ron's memories. All of the images and feelings from the previous night and today's early morning filled him up, making him feel soppy and light-hearted.

Ron hoped that he could get out of bed to brush his teeth without waking Harry. Carefully he slid sideways, until Harry's arm fell off and thumped on the bed. Harry groaned and grabbed the pillow as a replacement to Ron.

After he was positive that Harry was still asleep, he snuck into the living room and made sure that his and Harry's wands were both secure in his trainer where he had successfully hid them while he undressed the night before. Since he'd returned to America, Ron had carried Harry's wand ready to hand it back to him the moment Harry's memories came back. There was a fear of being caught with them, and Ron had thought of a few excuses. None of them were really any good and he hoped to avoid having to test them out.

Now that he was thinking clearly, he realized that leaving the wands in another room had been foolish and he vowed never to leave Harry unprotected again.

Ron collected the wands, their clothes, and shoes and brought them back into the bedroom. He found a brand new toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink, brushed his teeth quickly, peed, and crept back into bed.

Harry stirred and discarded the pillow in favour of taking his earlier position back. Ron wrapped his arms around him and Harry made a content humming noise.

"Morning," he mumbled into Ron's chest.

"Morning? It's afternoon. We didn't fall asleep until morning." Ron's hand drifted towards Harry's arse and he couldn't help himself from giving it a quick squeeze.

Harry moaned and rubbed against Ron's thigh as he began to leisurely ravish one of Ron's nipples, sending sparks of pleasure directly from the spot to Ron's groin.

As Harry kissed his way down Ron's chest, Ron thought, _'Bloody hell, all it takes is a bit of a grope and he's ready to go again.'_ Ron sighed, closed his eyes, and let Harry work his magic. _'This is going to be brilliant!'_

Ron could never have been described as a relationship expert. The only real relationship he'd ever been in was with Hermione. They had been so young and inexperienced that the start of it had consisted of holding hands and a few stolen snogging sessions during the year they searched for the Horcruxes that had left Ron hard and frustrated. After that they had fallen into a comfortable routine that had included living with Harry.

All his relationships after Hermione were short-lived. If they had lasted more than one date, it ended before the third. So he didn't know if what he was feeling was normal. Harry made him feel like someone took nervousness, excitement, confusion, desire, fear, shame, and love, threw them into a mortar, crushed them with a pestle, and created one huge indescribable feeling that'd replaced all of Ron's emotions and became the only thing that he could feel.

They spent the reminder of the weekend together. After realising that Harry had no food in his house and that Ginger needed feeding, they moved to Ron's, where Ron checked his mobile and discovered that he had six missed calls from Hermione. He never did get the opportunity to call her back because as soon as they ate, they kissed and fondled their way to the bedroom and stayed there for most of the day, only leaving for the loo.

Monday morning's sun rose and they were still awake, arms and legs entwined on the bed, talking about silly insignificant things that revealed no details about their lives, but a lot about their personalities. Ron discovered that they both preferred sunsets to sunrises and that Harry liked autumn the best out of all the seasons, though Ron preferred summer. They talked about the movies that they had watched and argued who would win in a fight, Spiderman or Darth Vader, with Ron vehemently defending Spiderman until he halted the argument by trapping Harry underneath him.

"Harry, Spiderman is good. Good _always_ wins over evil!"

"It's just make-believe, Ron. That only happens in the movies. The real world isn't a movie."

Ron would've continued to argue, but they were both excited from the physical contact, and Harry was looking at him with steamy green eyes and biting his bottom lip as Ron squirmed and rubbed against Harry.

"You're a randy son-of-a-bitch," Ron said, holding Harry's hips to the bed. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"I really need a shower." Harry sniffed the air near Ron and scrunched up his face. "So do you." Laughing, Harry rolled out from under Ron, who slumped face down on the bed, groaning.

"You're a tease too!" Ron said, though he was thinking this would be a perfect chance to call Hermione. He was sure that she would be frantic with worry.

"You could join me," Harry said, smacked Ron's arse, and sprinted off into the bathroom.

Ron jumped out of bed and followed, forgetting all about Hermione.

* * *

"You're going where?" Ron asked, watching Harry get dressed.

"To dinner with Jim," Harry said casually. "I promised him last week."

"Oh…" Ron picked at a thread on the blanket, twirling it around his finger until the tip filled with blood.

"You're not… jealous – are you?" Harry asked, clearly amused.

"Of course not! You told me that Jim and you are just _friends_."

"We are."

"Tell me what happened between the two of you," Ron said, trying to keep his tone curious rather than accusatory.

"Honestly, there's nothing to tell. We dated –"

"You shagged you mean."

"We dated and you are jealous!"

Trying to hide that he was in fact very jealous, Ron grinned and gave Harry a two-finger salute.

"I'll stop by after and we can –"

"I might not be home," Ron interrupted; the jealousy now entirely in control.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I need to get out. Feeling cooped up."

"Out? Where?" asked Harry.

"Just out."

Harry let it drop. They dressed in silence and parted at the door with an awkward kiss. Ron stopped pouting long enough to call Hermione. She was as upset as he thought she'd be and he felt so guilty that he didn't interrupt as she scolded him for five minutes.

"And Harry is okay?"

"Yes, Hermione. He's fine. I forgot to charge the battery in the mobile, that's all. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, sounding annoyed. "But I'm fairly certain that Luna drugged me."

"She did and –"

"I can't believe –"

"And I'm glad that she did," Ron said talking over her.

Hermione harrumphed.

"Hermione… what Luna told me… it's…"

"I know. It's dreadful. I don't want to believe it, but it's the only plausible theory."

"They'll kill Harry if they find him."

"We're doing everything that we can. Now that they know what they are looking for, your father and Bill are looking for more documents that Percy might have concealed with magic. Tonks said that Percy's stuff at the Ministry was boxed and put in storage. She's searching through them. We have to find concrete proof as soon as we can. We can't wait for Harry to remember."

"We can't wait for the Ministry to call me back to work either."

"What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow morning report me missing."

"Ron, no! They'll start looking for you too!"

"They're going to anyway. If you report me missing before I'm called back to work, then they won't think that you're in on it. Well… they will, but they won't be as sure. If they call me back and I don't show up, they might arrest you and you won't be of any use locked away in Azkaban."

"It's dangerous."

"Just being Harry's friend is dangerous. This way we're on the offensive – not the defensive."

"I'll do it."

"Remember: constant vigilance, Hermione," he said in his best Mad-Eye impression. "They'll be watching you. Don't do anything suspicious."

"I think we need to limit our calls too. The Muggles have ways of intercepting them."

The idea had crossed Ron's mind, but he had thought, or maybe hoped, that she wouldn't agree, so he didn't mention it.

"Right. We'll only use it for emergencies."

"Ron…"

"Contact me only when you find out something that means we can come home and I'll contact you if Harry gets his memory back."

"Okay." Her voice sounded tiny, defeated.

"This is all going to be over soon," he said. "And we'll be home and we'll get pissed and have a laugh about all of this."

She didn't respond and Ron thought that they had been cut-off.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here. I love you, Ron and I don't know how you're going to do it, but let Harry know that too. Please."

"I love you too, Hermione, and I will."

He hit the 'end' button, cutting himself off completely from the only sanity left to anchor him and stood there for a moment with the mobile in his hand and a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach, feeling utterly alone.

The conversation with Hermione turned his bad mood even fouler. He moped around the house until he couldn't stand it anymore and walked up to the main inn. Marty told him that Shawn was in the bar alone, so Ron went in looking for him. He found Shawn at the bar with an electric blue drink in his hand. The bar was nearly empty and they had their pick of tables. They chose one near the back and sat down.

It didn't take long for Shawn to figure out that something was wrong. Ron lied a few times before giving in and telling him about his weekend with Harry – pausing when Shawn began screaming that he knew Ron was gay - and Harry's 'date' with Jim.

Shawn sighed and he looked at Ron with a serious expression. "All right, then. What do you want? Do you want me to commiserate like a straight guy, like a woman, or like a gay man?"

"Huh?"

"Well, a straight guy will buy you a beer, grunt a lot, and say things like _'fuck him,'_ and then try to get you laid tonight. A woman will buy you a pint of ice cream, cry with you, say things like _'he doesn't deserve you,'_ and then make fun of his penis size. A gay man will buy you a cosmopolitan, tell you all the gossip he knows about Harry and Jim, and then blow you to make you feel better.

"I happen to do the gay man thing the best, because I am in fact a gay man. However, if you choose option three, I'll have to pass since I'm in a committed relationship now."

Ron laughed. He needed the best right now. He reached out to grab the arm of the waiter walking by. "Two cosmo – cosmopolitans, please."

"Yes! Option number three! Okay, okay…" Shawn said, shifting in his seat and rubbing his hands together. "First, I have to ask this. Is this love or just a _'I want to be the only rooster in the henhouse'_ thing?"

"I have no bloody idea what you mean."

"Are you falling for Harry or are you just jealous because he might be interested in someone else?"

Ron paused. He knew the answer, but he didn't know if he wanted to say it aloud to Shawn, who was still virtually a stranger.

"It's not because I want to be… er, the only rooster thing you said."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I guess that's good enough."

The waiter reappeared with their drinks. Shawn raised his glass, some of the pink liquid spilling over the rim, dribbling down his hand and wrist. He held up a hand in a wait motion and licked the sticky liquid clean. "Okay. To a girls' night out!"

They clinked glasses. The glass with the narrow stew and wide rim felt odd in Ron's hand. Ron took a tentative sip. The alcohol content was high, but Ron thought it was good and drank down a mouthful.

Shawn launched right into the gossip that he had heard from Marty, who heard it from Scott, who heard it from Andy, who was told by Jim one night when Jim was drunk and uncharacteristically talkative that Harry was cold and distant. Jim had failed at getting Harry to open up and Jim thought it was just about sex and he wanted more.

At the mention of sex, Ron tensed up.

"Did you think they didn't have sex?" asked Shawn.

"Of course, I suspected they… it's just… if that's only what Harry's looking for…"

Shawn's eyes widened. "You… oh, you haven't… it's all right, Ron. Virgins are hot!"

"I'm not a _virgin_!" protested Ron.

"So you've been fu –"

"No!" Ron snapped, his hand shaking, splashing his drink over the rim of the glass.

"I… I don't even know where to start and I don't…" Ron saw the waiter coming back with more drinks and he didn't bother finishing his sentence, knowing that he would sound pathetic saying that he didn't want to let Harry down.

"I remember when I was still a virgin," said Shawn wistfully. "It's scary, but sexy too, and I'm going to get my chance to really repay you now for helping me with my mom and explain everything."

"Explain?"

"_Everything_!"

Shawn began educating Ron in great detail exactly how sex worked between two blokes, including visual effects. Ron's embarrassment had deafened him in the beginning, but once Ron realized that this stuff would be dead useful, he asked Shawn to go back over a few things, staring naively as Shawn demonstrated a peculiar scissors type movement with his fingers.

"And that works? Makes it… _fit_?" Ron asked, still unconvinced.

"Over time, it's not always necessary, but in the beginning, it's a must! If I could only give you one piece of advice, it's relax. If you don't, it'll hurt… a lot!" Shawn said.

"Wait," Ron said. "Why do you think I'm going to be the one… the one shagged?"

Shawn smirked. "Would you? If Harry wanted to?"

"Yeah," Ron said quietly.

"That's how I know. I see the look in your eyes and you've fallen for… Harry!"

"Maybe… I… it's complica -"

"No." Shawn bumped his shoulder against Ron's. "Harry's here. Him and Jim just walked in."

Ron turned to look. Harry saw him and Ron swivelled his head around, pretending that he didn't see him.

"Oh my god… they're coming over. Act nonchalant," Shawn said hurriedly, leaning back in his chair.

Ron took a deep swig of his drink, emptying the glass. The waiter was nowhere to be seen and Ron swore under his breath.

"Hey," a voice said that he recognized as Jim's.

"Hey, Jim. Hey, Harry," Shawn said in his normal bubbly tone.

"Hi, Ron," Jim said as he sat in the seat next to Shawn, leaving the empty seat next to Ron for Harry to sit in, which he did and Ron looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi, Ron," repeated Jim.

"Yeah, hi," Ron said.

They fell into an awkward silence. Shawn began to hum along with the music playing from speakers overhead. Ron pretend to be extremely interested in the lit candle encased in frosty glass sitting in the centre of the table.

"So… Shawnie…" Jim said dragging out the words that were dripping with amusement. "How's things going with Mark?"

"Hi, Ron," Harry said.

Ron looked up, wanting to look in Harry's eyes, but he lost his courage at the last second and stared at his nose instead. "Hi."

"Great!" said Shawn. "Just great. He's with his kid, Quinn, tonight."

"Anything interesting in there?" Harry asked, reaching over to tilt the candleholder towards him. As he stretched across the table, his arm brushed Ron's, sending tingles of gooseflesh from Ron's wrist to his shoulder.

"Are you going to Andy's on Thursday?" Jim asked.

"No… er, just looking at it," Ron said stupidly and, for a brief moment, considered Apparating out of there a good idea.

He finally looked at Harry and their eyes met. Harry smiled timidly, seeming unsure that it would be returned.

"Yep," Shawn said. "Mark's eating dinner with his parents, but he'll stop by after for desert. Ron, did anyone tell you about Thanksgiving at Andy's?"

Ron wanted to smile back, but his nerves allowed him to only sort of half-smirk. Looking disappointed, Harry turned away.

"Hello, earth to Ron," Shawn said, poking Ron's ribs.

"Huh? Sorry. What?"

Shawn shook his head. "Jim, Marty was just saying that he hasn't talked to you in awhile. Why don't we…?" He pointed to the door.

The excuse Shawn used was transparently pathetic, and Ron panicked at the thought of being alone with Harry.

Jim, his face bland and emotionless, looked back and forth between Harry and Ron. Ron wanted to bloody his nose.

Ron had been busy looking at Jim, but he must've missed some gesture from Harry because Jim nodded once towards Harry in an obvious signal that he understood.

"Sure," Jim said, standing and waiting for Shawn.

"See ya, Harry." Shawn kissed Ron's cheek and whispered in his ear, "Remember to relax, Ronnie."

After they were gone, Ron shifted his attention from the candle to a hangnail on his thumb, thinking that the whole bloody thing was ridiculous, but having no idea how to make it right. He just wanted it to be like it had been that morning when it felt like there was no one else in the world but the two of them.

"Listen, Ron…" Harry began, starling Ron from his thoughts. He looked at Harry, but Harry seemed to have lost his words.

"Yeah," Ron said and smiled. "I acted like a –"

"I acted like a right git!" Harry said and swung his legs around so that his knees were touching the side of Ron's thigh, making Ron's pulse quicken at the mere touch. "I should've asked you to come along. There's nothing going on between me and Jim! I swear!"

"I know," Ron said and he believed it.

Harry made a bold move and rested his hand on Ron's knee. "I really am sorry, Ron."

"It's all right," Ron said. He felt embarrassed that Harry was acting like he had thrown himself into a fit of tears over it. "Stop being such a big girl's blouse. It's not a big deal."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Big girl's blouse?" He pointed towards Ron's drink and smirked. "I'm not the one drinking a pink drink. Tell me, Ron," he reached over and pushed Ron's hair behind his ear, "did it come with a tiny umbrella to put in your hair?"

Ron tried to grab Harry's wrist, but Harry, still laughing at his own joke, curved his hand and slipped it into Ron's, squeezing it slightly. Ron stared at him, thinking that Harry looked more handsome than he had ever seen him.

"Git," Ron said with no real venom. Being relaxed with Harry, joking with him, feeling like they were friends again, that's what surged Ron's passion.

Harry stood up, still holding Ron's hand. "Let's go," he said and Ron followed because whatever Harry wanted Ron was going to give him.

_**TBC**_


	14. A New Experience

**A New Experience**

Ron sat at the table between Harry and Shawn, waiting for Andy and Marty to bring out the food whose aroma while cooking had been tantalising his appetite for over an hour. Soft music played from speakers in the corner of the room, but the booming sound of the men's deep voices drowned it out. Across the table, Scott and Jim discussed American football, but paused and joined the conversation when Ron began asking questions about Thanksgiving Day.

"So it's about giving thanks?" Ron asked.

They all nodded.

"Thanks for what?"

"Just general things that you're thankful for," Andy answered as he entered the room carrying a large platter covered with slices of turkey meat and piles of stuffing. Behind him, Marty followed carrying bowls of corn and carrots. They placed them on the table and went back, making two more trips until the table was filled with candied yams, mashed potatoes, string beans, cranberry sauce, and gravy.

Ron scratched the stubble on his chin. "And when did this all start?"

"Years ago when the pilgrims first came to America," Shawn replied.  
"It has something to do with celebrating the end of the harvest."

"So you lot harvest anything lately?" Ron asked teasingly, and they all laughed.

"It's like Boxing Day, Ron," Harry said.

"It's not. On Boxing Day we celebrate… it's for celebrating…" If anyone had ever told Ron exactly what the purpose of Boxing Day was, he couldn't recall. He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it's like Boxing Day."

Satisfied, Ron filled his plate with mounds of food and tucked in.

After dinner, they piled their dirty dishes on the kitchen counter and left Andy and Marty to store the leftover food in plastic containers as they went into the living room to watch American football. At first, Ron found it painfully pointless and mundane. He'd almost suffered a slip of the tongue several times and compared it to Quidditch. Eventually his competitive streak took over and, along with Scott and Jim he yelled at the screen, cheering on the team he'd chosen as his favourite purely based on their name. The Lions, who proved to be as pathetic as the Cannons, lost horribly to a team called The Falcons. Ron reluctantly handed over a twenty dollar bill to Scott that he had bet in the heat of the moment.

Andy brought out coffee and afters. Shawn jumped up and ran out into the kitchen. All day Shawn had been curiously quiet and reserved, but when he returned from the kitchen, holding a white box, he looked more like his normal bubbly self.

Smiling, he laid the box on Ron's lap.

Bewildered, because Harry had assured him there would be no gift exchanging, Ron opened it and stared at a box filled with treacle tart. "Shawn, how'd you…?"

"Harry asked me to get it for you," Shawn said and took the box back. "I'll heat it up."

The simple gesture moved Ron more than he could express. He simply put his hand on Harry's knee and rubbed it. "Thanks. It's a nice surprise."

"It's not entirely selfless," Harry said, smirking. "They only have pumpkin pie and I hate it."

"Horrid stuff," Ron agreed.

When Shawn returned with the treacle tart, Ron insisted that everyone try some. They all seemed surprised that they liked it, making Ron sorry he had shared, since he only got one portion.

"We'll get more this week," Harry whispered, putting his hand over Ron's. "Promise."

Past Harry's shoulder, Jim looked at Ron with a sour expression. Ron had been avoiding Jim all day. Jim obviously wanted to get Ron alone, but Ron had been craftier and dodged all chances of that, including not going to the bathroom.

They ate desert while watching another football match. Shawn's dark mood returned. Andy tried to cheer him up by pointing out the fit blokes in tight pants. Shawn commented, but his remarks lacked their usual lustre. Ron assumed it was because Mark was absent. Mark did eventually show up, looking guilty. Shawn took him into the kitchen and when they returned, Shawn looked a bit lighter and even began heckling the cheerleaders' performance.

Gorging himself on dinner and afters started to catch up with Ron. He yawned loudly. Harry, whose head was resting on Ron's shoulder, laughed.

"I need a lie down," Ron said quietly.

"Me too," Harry said.

Harry offered to help Andy clean before they left. They all stood, except for Marty and Mark.

"I helped cook," Marty explained. "I deserve a rest."

Not all of them could fit in the kitchen together comfortably, so Harry washed the dishes as Andy dried them. Scott wiped the dining room table with a sponge and Jim bagged up the leftover food for everyone to take home. Ron, feeling useless, stood in the corner out of everyone's way, watching Harry.

"Ron, will you take the trash out back?" Andy asked, pointing towards the rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen.

"Okay." Ron knotted the rubbish sack and carried it toward the back door.

"Light switch is on the right by the door," Andy said. "The trash cans are around the side of the house to the left."

The light outside the door lit up the garden, but once Ron rounded the corner, the light dimmed. He dumped the sack in a large, green, hard plastic bin and turned back to go inside, faltering slightly when he saw Jim standing at the corner of the house.

"Fuck," Ron mumbled, but squared his shoulders and walked boldly towards him. Jim's disapproving glare becoming clear as Ron drew closer.

"So…" Jim said. "You and Harry?"

"Yeah. _Me_ and Harry."

"Don't you think it's a conflict of interest?"

"I told you I'm not here officially. So, no. There's no conflict of interest."

Jim shook his head slowly. "It's not right, Ron."

It surprised Ron the way Jim had said it. He would've expected Jim's voice to be filled with venom, but instead Ron heard concern and pity.

"Harry's an adult, Jim. I'm not forcing him to -"

"He's mentally incapacitated!"

Jim's words were like a rock hurled at Ron's wall of denial. They bounced off without crumbling it, but left a sliver of a crack.

"He's not," Ron said, his voice shaky. "I'd never take advantage of –"

"I didn't say that you –"

"Stop interrupting me!"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. Honestly, I'm not. I just don't want to see Harry get hurt. He doesn't remember you. What happens when he does and doesn't remember this?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know him."

"Listen, I know you don't know me from Adam, but I've gotten to know Harry over the last eight months and I like him… I care about him. I understand that to you I'm a stranger… even to your Harry Potter I am, but to this Harry, I'm a friend.

"I didn't turn Harry in. Don't you understand what that means? I could lose my job. I'm a cop, Ron. It's not just what I do; it's what I am. And I risked all of it to protect Harry. That should tell you something."

"It could ruin our friendship," Ron said, the crack in his wall growing wider. "That's the risk that I'm taking." Finally saying it out loud was like a blow to the gut. Ron must've looked like he felt because Jim's face softened.

"Is it worth it?"

Ron never had the chance to respond. Shawn's voice yelled through the night. "Ron! Ron, something's the matter with Harry."

Ron ran into the house with Jim close behind on his heels.

"He's in the sunroom," Shawn said.

The sunroom was past the dining room and through a pair of French doors. The only light in the room came from a candle on a table next to where Harry sat. He was twisted sideways in the seat, his legs tucked underneath him and he played with the flickering flame from the candle, waving his index finger over it, repeatedly.

"What happened?" Ron asked Shawn.

"I don't know," Shawn replied. "He went out to look for the two of you. He came back alone and he looked… I don't know… spacey. It was really weird. He just walked in here and sat down. We tried to talk to him, but he won't respond."

Ron approached Harry slowly and knelt down in front of him. "Hi, Harry. You okay?"

The shadows created by the candle fell over Harry's profile, giving him a sinister look, but beyond the play of light, Ron could see only blankness.

"You ready to go home?"

Harry's finger paused directly over the flame. He left it there and Ron could see the flesh turning pink.

"Hey, stop it!" Ron said, reaching out to grab Harry's wrist and pulling his hand away from the fire.

Harry blinked and turned his head to look at him. His green eyes glimmered with something that brought both hope and fear into Ron's heart. "R-Ron?"

Ron froze. The way Harry said it, confused and unsure, made Ron think that Harry knew him. _Really_ knew him.

"Yeah, mate. It's me. You okay?"

"I…" Harry looked hesitantly past Ron at the others. Ron followed his gaze and waved them away from the doorway. "I'm fine. I just had too much turkey or maybe it was those blasted candied yams." He was trying to sound confident, but his voice trembled.

"Yeah," Ron said. His hopes that this was all over had deflated, yet he felt relieved too. For a moment, he'd thought that he had Harry back and, at the same time, thought he'd lost him too.

* * *

After the incident, which Ron assumed had been triggered by Harry overhearing the discussion about him, Harry became distant and brooding. Marty drove them home and they went directly to Harry's house. Every time Ron tried to touch or approach Harry, Harry became snappish and pushed him away.

Resigned not to leave Harry alone, Ron stayed out of his way and as he waited on the sofa for Harry to finish putting the leftovers away in the kitchen, he drifted off to sleep.

When Ron woke, the house was quiet. Only a single small lamp was lit across the room. He rolled his head around trying to loosen the muscles in his neck, stiffened from sleeping sitting up.

He found Harry in bed, rolled over on his side so Ron couldn't see his face. Hurt, but glad that Harry hadn't asked him to leave, Ron undressed to his underwear, hid the pair of wands under the bed, and slipped softly between the sheets. He closed his eyes and listened to Harry's deep breathing. Harry stirred. The bedsprings creaked and the mattress dipped towards the middle as Harry rolled over on his back. Harry's breathing stilled. Ron kept his eyes shut tight, pretending to be asleep. He was tried of Harry's bitter mood and his frustration bordered on anger. The last thing he wanted was a row to tear them apart.

Harry's breathing became audible again, but this time it was strained, erratic and heavy. It soon turned into a sad, distressed groaning. Ron opened his eyes. Harry's face wore an animated mask of anguish. His eyes reeled behind eyelids shut tight. All the muscles in his face were contorted and twitching.

"Harry," Ron whispered. He placed his hand lightly on Harry's naked chest and found it damp from sweat. Slow and gentle, he rubbed his fingers in circles and whispered Harry's name, trying to draw him away from the area in his mind filled with all the awful memories that Harry had given up his life to forget.

"No! Leave him alone! I'll kill you! I'll kill…" Harry's eyes flew open and he bolted upright. His look was wild as his gaze bounced around the room.

"Harry, you're okay," Ron said, putting a hand on the sweat-soaked hair that fell over the back of Harry's neck. "It was only a bad dream."

"I'm fine," snapped Harry. He jumped out of bed and away from Ron.

"Harry…"

Harry ignored him and escaped into the bathroom. Ron heard the click of the lock immediately after the door slammed.

Ron, tired of being pushed away, stormed after him. He knocked on the door.

"Harry, let me in."

"Go away!"

"No!" Ron beat on the door with his fist and his foot. "Stop being so bloody stubborn!"

"I'm stubborn?! I told you to go away!"

"You don't have to talk about the dream," Ron said, trying some reason. "Just come back to bed."

He quit pounding on the door and waited. Harry stopped yelling back, but still the door didn't open.

"You think you're so smart," Ron mumbled. He retrieved his wand, whispered _'Alohomora'_ towards the door, and quickly stashed it back in its hiding place.

The doorknob turned in Ron's hand and he opened the door slowly. Harry's hand came around the edge and pulled it open faster. Harry stood there looking shaken and angry.

"How'd you…?" Harry said, looking at Ron's hands.

"Stop being a stubborn git," Ron said, ignoring the question that he knew Harry really didn't want to know the answer to anyway.

"It's none of your –" Harry began, but Ron didn't let him answer. He reached out, grasped Harry's shoulders and pulled him to a hug.

Harry's body tensed and his arms hung limply at his side. It didn't stop Ron from clutching him tighter and holding a long tight lipped kiss to the top of Harry's head.

"You don't need to talk about it," Ron whispered.

"I don't remember anyway," Harry said, relaxing a bit between Ron's persistent arms.

"But you still _feel_ it though… huh?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered and Ron felt the fight drain out of Harry's body.

They stood in silence. Harry didn't do anything except to allow Ron to comfort him. Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Harry's waist, Ron used his other to drag his fingertips lightly up and down Harry's spine. Harry's breathing increased with each caress until he was nearly panting. His fingers grabbed Ron's hips and, without breaking their embrace, he walked them back towards the bed. The back of Ron's knees hit the edge of the mattress and he finally let go of Harry and fell backwards.

Harry stared down at Ron with a heated gaze. There was an unspoken question in his eyes and a need, pure and raw, etched into every line on his face. Ron didn't know what to say, so he only tugged his underwear off and spread his legs in a wordless gesture that allowed Harry total access to all of him.

Nothing seemed important except for one thing – Harry needed him.

The temperature had dropped significantly overnight, but it didn't stop Ron from daring Harry to run to Ron's house in just his underwear. Harry, who never turned down a dare, grabbed the leftovers out of the fridge, and sprinted down the path. Wearing nothing but his own pants, Ron followed slowly behind, laughing and jiggling the key in his hand.

"Oi, wanker, hurry up!" Harry yelled, dancing in place and rubbing his hands over his chest and arms in front of the door.

They spent the day at Ron's house because of Ginger and the better television. Harry – completely dressed this time – went up to the Main Inn to fetch a few movies.

By Saturday morning, they were tired of leftover turkey and wandered out to Main Street for lunch.

Main Street had transformed over the past few days. The autumn decorations had been replaced with pine cones, door wreaths decorated with red and green, and loads of fairy lights strung around anything that stood still.

Ron looked around wearing a huge grin.

"Do you fancy a walk after we're done eating?"

"That sounds brilliant."

Christmas shoppers had descended upon New Hope and the pavement was packed with strangers, who made Ron very nervous. After they finished lunch, as an extra precaution, he went to the bathroom and took his wand from his sock and slipped it into the sleeve of his jumper.

The restaurant sold hot chocolate to take away. They each got a cup and used it to warm their hands as they walked. Ron has suggested stopping in a few shops and, though he didn't buy anything, he enjoyed looking at the items.

"Looking for Christmas gifts?" Harry said as he came up behind Ron and looked over his shoulder at a dark green hand-knitted jumper Ron thought that Harry would look handsome in.

"Er… just looking."

"Will you be here?" Harry asked.

"Where?"

"Here," Harry said, pointing at the floor.

"Here? Right _here_? When?"

Harry put his head down and chuckled. "Never mind."

Three shops later and what Harry had meant hit him. "Oh…" he said suddenly. "I reckon I'll still be here for Christmas."

Harry smiled, took Ron's hand, and pulled him out the door. "There's a shop I really like across the street."

Harry led Ron up a narrow stairwell painted completely black to the first floor and they walked through a blood red door. Right inside the door stood a tall suit of armour holding a long sword, the helm adorned with jewels and the hilt etched with an intricate scroll design.

"They have some cool stuff here," Harry said. He let go of Ron's hand and began to stroll around, looking wide-eyed at the swords and daggers elaborately displayed in cases.

In the back of the shop, Ron found a rack of clothes. The sign above them read _'costumes,'_ though to Ron, much of it looked like normal wizard wear.

"Ron!" Harry called from across the room. Ron looked up and saw Harry standing by a glass counter gesturing at him to come over.

"Look at these. They're really cool." Harry turned and pointed a wand directly at Ron's chest.

Instinctively Ron moved to the side. "Fuck! Harry watch where…" He stopped when he realized that Harry was looking at him as if he'd gone mad. So he laughed and raised his hands in a dramatically mocking way. Harry grinned and playing along, he waved the wand. Ron fought the urge to duck.

Ron let his own wand slip down into his palm. He was ready to _Obliviate_ Harry, the Muggle shop assistants, or the customers if Harry ended up giving them all boils or jelly legs.

Harry handed Ron one of the other wands that were sitting on the counter and Ron's anxiousness diminished. The piece of wood, though visually similar to a wizard's wand, weren't made by a magical source. The normal surge of power Ron normally felt when he touched a wand was absent.

"These are cool," Ron said and twirled the wand between his fingers.

"I've been thinking of buying one," Harry said, looking longingly at the one in his hand. "They're really expensive though."

The tag hanging from the wand in Harry's hand read a hundred and ninety dollars.

One of the shop assistants, a tall man about a decade older than Harry and Ron, walked from behind the counter. "They're handcrafted," he said. "They're worth the cost."

"Maybe… someday…" Harry said, putting the wand back in its place. "Let's go, we can get take-away before going home."

"Not so fast," the assistant said and grabbed Ron's upper arm.

"What are you playing at?" Ron asked, trying unsuccessfully to shrug the man off.

Harry stepped forward and the man stared angrily at him. "Back off. Unless you're a thief too."

"Thief?" Ron and Harry both said at the same time.

"Yeah…" The man let go of Ron's shoulder, roughly grabbed Ron's wrist, and pulled the wand out of his sleeve. "Thief."

_**TBC**_


	15. A New Weapon

**A New Weapon**

It was a mere minute or maybe two, but it seemed to stretch out for an eternity as Ron's brain scrambled to find a way to get them out of this. It felt as if time had stopped moving and every nerve in Ron's body tingled with awareness. The man's raspy breath that smelt of tobacco mingled with mint puffed hot and moist against the side of Ron's face in the same rhythm as the backbeat of the music playing from the ceiling. Ron's pulse that pumped against the man's large thumb circled around his wrist seemed to fall into step with the beat.

Ron weighed his limited and risky options: physically try to wrestle his wand back and then _Obliviate_ everyone, attempt to lie his way out of it, or grab Harry and run like hell.

The last option he quickly dismissed. He didn't know how Muggles reacted to this sort of crime and the last thing he needed was someone else hunting them. The first alternative could be dangerous. Out of the corner of his eye he watched customers walking in and out of the store. There were over a dozen Muggles wandering around the store and he hadn't practised mass memory charms in ages.

But if this bloke called the police and they arrested them, it would be Harry's death sentence.

Harry stepped forward, an angry look on his face. "Let him go. He wouldn't steal anything," he said and Ron felt a slight, but unmistakable surge of magic that made the skin on the back of his neck prickle and the decision was made. He had to lie his way out of this. If Harry's magic went out of control, the damage could go beyond Ron's ability to fix.

Ron steadied himself and with a broad smile, the one that Hermione said could _'charm the birds off the trees,'_ he looked the man straight in the eye and lied. "You didn't give me a chance. I was going to let my mate go and hang around here to pay for this."

"Why were you hiding it from your _mate_?"

Ron lowered his voice. "It was going to be a surprise. You know… a Christmas gift."

The man's angry and disbelieving glaze didn't falter.

"Honest," Ron said. "How much is it? I'll pay you now. In fact, I'll buy one for myself too."

"You're going to pay… for _two_?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. The one that my mate was looking at."

The man let go of Ron's wrist. Apparently where charm didn't work, money did.

"Okay. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," the man said, waving Ron's wand around as he spoke. "But there's no price on this one. Hey, Jason!"

A long haired teenager, with silver balls and hoops adorning his face, emerged from a black curtain hanging in a doorframe. "Yeah, Walt."

Walt handed Jason the wand. "I need to know how much to charge these jokers. Take this to Jake. Ask him how much he wants for it and tell him to add fifty bucks to it."

Jason took the wand and disappeared behind the curtain.

While Walt kept watch on them, Ron avoided looking at Harry and he worried. He didn't worry about the fact that Bill was going to murder him for spending so much money; he worried that this was going to push Harry away. He had no idea how Harry was going to handle all of this.

A few minutes later, Jason came back with another man, who was holding Ron's wand and inspecting it while he walked.

"Jake says this isn't one of his," Jason said. "Right, Jake?"

Jake looked about the same age as Walt. He was built like the twins and Charlie, short and broad.

He looked from Harry to Ron before nodding. "Nope. Not one of mine."

"So what game are you playing here, pal?" Walt asked angrily, poking Ron in the chest.

"I didn't think that you'd believe me that it was mine," Ron said hastily. "And I don't have any proof that it is mine. We're from out of town," Ron chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Obviously. I just didn't want any trouble."

Jake held out Ron's wand. Ron took it back and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. There was no use in trying to hide it now that Harry knew.

"Where'd you get that?" Jake asked. "The craftsmanship is impeccable."

"It was a gift from my brother. He… er… he travelled a lot, so I dunno where he got it." Ron imagined that the brother was Percy, though Percy didn't travel and he certainly hadn't given Ron many gifts.

"A wand's an unusual gift," Jake said. "Are you a fan of that sort of thing?"

"Not really. My brother was interested in all this stuff…. wizards… magic… that sort of thing."

"Can we go?" Harry asked, grabbing Ron's elbow.

"Yeah," Walt said in a disgruntled tone. "Don't come back though. I don't like you."

Ron didn't intend to. He headed straight for the door without looking back.

Once outside, he braced himself preparing for whatever mental stuff Harry was going to throw at him.

Neither of them made a sound, until they reached the corner and had to wait for cars to pass before crossing and that's when Harry began to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Y-y-y-our f-f-f-ace," Harry stammered, clutching his side. "You should-should've seen it when he grabbed… when he grabbed you."

Harry used the side of his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes.

Mystified at Harry's totally unexpected reaction, Ron stared at him, not laughing.

"Oh come on," Harry said. "I'm only taking the piss."

"Harry, you're a fucking paradox. That's what you are," Ron said, sighing in both relief and exasperation.

Harry raised his eyebrow. "Why? Because I thought that was funny? Especially when you turned on the charm with that smile and batting those big blue eyes. You were barking up the wrong tree. That bloke was dead straight."

Without thinking about it, because if he had, doubts that Harry would take the piss even more would've stopped him, he reached out grabbed Harry's hand and locked their fingers together.

"You're a git. That wasn't funny. I could've been arrested!"

"But you weren't, so it's funny," Harry said. Then like someone flicked a switch off inside of Harry, his mood went from light-hearted to sombre. "You said was."

"Huh?"

"You said your brother _was_."

"Oh yeah. He… he died."

"Were you close?"

"No. He was… difficult is the word, I reckon. But I wish we had been."

Harry squeezed Ron's hand. Ron squeezed back and swallowed to choke down the lump growing in his throat.

Almost a week passed before the subject of the wand came up. After a long night of shagging until dawn to erase away the remnants of another one of Harry's nightmares, Ron took an extra long time in the shower, enjoying the pounding of the hot water against his sore muscles.

He got out the shower feeling relaxed. The feeling quickly deflated when he walked into the bedroom and saw Harry sitting on the bed twirling Ron's wand between his thumb and forefinger.

"Hey," Ron said.

"Hey."

Ron stood in the middle of the room, ardently hoping that Harry didn't wind up blasting him through the wall.

"It is a bit odd that you carry this around with you," Harry said. Ron opened his mouth, but Harry kept talking, not giving Ron a chance to reply. "It's sort of a memento though, so it's not creepy."

"Well, thanks, mate," Ron said genially. "I'm glad it meets your approval."

Without warning, Harry waved the wand in a circle and then flicked it down sharply. Ron didn't feel anything, though Ginger burst out from under the bed and ran out of the room faster than a snitch.

Nothing happened this time, but rather than waiting and seeing if the next time they weren't so lucky, Ron attempted a distraction.

"You know if you like wands…" Ron dropped the towel from around his waist. "I've got one you can play with."

Harry raised his eyebrow and one side of his lip curved into a bent smile. "Really? Well, I don't know…." Harry's fingers trailed over the wand in his hand. "This is a very nice wand. Big too. What is it… twelve – thirteen inches?"

"Fourteen," Ron said proudly.

Harry stared at him, his crooked smile turning into a full grin. "Fourteen… long… inches…" Harry said. He stood, dropped the wand on the bed, and sauntered towards Ron. "But you know what they say… you can't judge the size of a wizard's penis by his wand."

Ron couldn't believe what he'd just heard, but if Harry realized what he'd said, it didn't show. Nothing on his face changed. His eyes, still blazing with lust, stared at Ron and his step never faltered as he approached.

"Though in this case…" Harry said, leering at Ron."Maybe it's not fourteen inches, but it's certainly nothing to sneeze at."

"Want to move to the bed?"

"No. Here will do just fine," Harry said, pushing Ron backwards until his back pressed against the mirrored door of the wardrobe.

* * *

Ron was thirsty and his left arm that Harry was sleeping on felt cold and numb. He hated leaving Harry, fearing that he'd have a nightmare while he was gone, but Ron really needed a glass of water.

Harry didn't wake as Ron got out of bed. He only rolled over and pulled the blanket up over his naked body.

The kitchen tiles were cold on Ron's bare feet and he hopped over to the rug in front of the sink and began filling a glass with water from the tap.

"Sir."

Ron's insides jumped. He whirled around and the glass in his hand slipped and fell towards the floor. Ron waited for the sound of glass exploding, but it never came. He looked down and the glass was gone.

Frantically he looked around the room for the source of the voice, finding it standing in the corner of the room looking timid.

"Dobby," Ron whispered hoarsely. "Dobby, what are you… you can't… Harry's in the other room."

"I know, sir. I waited until you were alone. Dobby needs to –"

"Waited?"

"Yes, sir. Dobby knows not to frighten Harry Potter."

Burning hot embarrassment rushed through Ron. "Dobby… er… how long…?"

"Dobby doesn't gossip, sir," he said, shaking his head fervently. "Dobby sees all sorts of things at Hogwarts and he never tells a soul."

"Good. Okay… Dobby… er… yeah… don't say anything. Okay?"

"Dobby thinks it is brilliant, sir. Dobby always thought –"

"Dobby, why are you here?" Ron asked, looking nervously at the doorway.

"Sorry, sir. Dobby needs to give this to you. The Headmistress trusted _only_ Dobby to deliver it!" Dobby stepped forward and gave Ron an ivory envelope. Ron turned it over. There was no writing on it. "It's a letter, sir."

"This is all?"

"Yes. Dobby will leave now, sir, before Harry Potter wakes up and sees him. Bye, sir."

The spot where Dobby stood was instantly empty and Ron realised as he went to hide the letter in his pocket that he didn't have any pockets because he was completely starkers and embarrassment coursed through him again.

Ron decided the bathroom was the best place to hide and read the letter. Harry was still asleep, but Ron locked the door as a measure of extra caution.

He leaned against the door and opened the envelope. The parchment inside was filled with two pages of Hermione's handwriting.

_Dear Ron,_

_I hope Dobby didn't scare you too much. We asked him to deliver this at night, so there was no chance you'd be with Harry or any of the Muggles. I hope you weren't mean to him. He was very proud that we asked for his help again._

_So much has happened in the last week. I'm sorry that I didn't ring you, but it's become very dangerous here._

_On Monday, Tonks's friend at the American Ministry contacted her and told her that an American politician, Senator John Wilson, came to their Minister for help. The Senator's sister is a witch and works at the Ministry. Wilson suspects that the death a few months ago of a Supreme Court justice, who was the deciding factor in a very important ruling, was not of natural causes, but an assassination. (I know you don't know much about American politics, but she was a very important person that's all that matters.)_

_Wilson had found evidence that linked the death to American and British politicians and the London Ministry for Magic._

_The American Ministry doesn't appear to be a part of it. However, the American Minister made a very big mistake – he contacted Scrimgeour about it all._

Ron put the letter down and took a deep breath. He tried to begin reading again, but his hand shook too badly, so he placed the letter on the side of the sink and bent over it to read.

_That night two American and three British politicians 'died in their sleep.' Wilson has confirmed the ones killed were the ones working with wizards to murder the others. It appears as if Scrimgeour killed or had them killed to cover his tracks._

_The American Minister never gave up Wilson's name, so he was safe from the slaughter and he's currently under the protection of the American Ministry._

_As a precaution, your family, Tonks, Remus, and I are also hiding. I can't tell you where, Ron. I'm sorry, but we're safe._

_I know all of this is dreadful and you must be very frightened. I have more to tell you and it will get worse before it gets better. But it does get better – trust me._

Ron turned the letter over, dreading what could be worse than this.

_Scrimgeour publicly announced to the wizarding world that it was you and Harry who killed all of the politicians. He proclaims that the two of you were working with Muggles to help them gain political power by assassinating other Muggles. He's allowing the use of Unforgivables by any wizard or witch in order to stop both of you._

_The order has gone out internationally. All Ministries are on high alert and searching for you and Harry._

_I know this sounds bad_

"Bad- bad," Ron mumbled. "That's a fucking understatement, Hermione."

_I know this sounds bad, but Scrimgeour made a big mistake. The American Minister is on our side now. He trusts Wilson and he does not trust Scrimgeour. He's sending Wilson to London tomorrow night via an aeroplane. He'll be heavily guarded by both Muggles and wizards. He's our best weapon against Scrimgeour and whoever else is involved._

_We believe with our evidence and his evidence we can persuade the Wizengamot to further investigate Scrimgeour without Harry's testimony._

_Your father contacted the eldest member of the Wizengamot, Madam Marchbanks. She's very fair and was a true and loyal friend to Dumbledore. Your father is sure that she can be trusted. She agreed to call an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot first thing Monday morning._

"Shite," Ron muttered. That was two full days away. They'd have to lie low and stay away from crowds and strangers the next few days.

_You and Harry should stay out of sight the next few days._

Ron shook his head and skipped the paragraph outlining what was already obvious to him.

_We're safe. Don't worry about us. Use the mobile only in an emergency. I'll ring you or send Dobby immediately after the hearing._

_We have loads of evidence that will make them at least suspicious of Scrimgeour. I know this will all be over soon._

_You mum and dad send their love._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Ron tore the letter up into tiny pieces and stashed it in the bottom of the rubbish bin before going back to bed and another sleepless night.

* * *

Lying low the next day proved to be easy. Harry didn't mind staying about the house, watching the telly, playing chess, and shagging. They ordered take-away to be delivered for dinner. After eating, they settled on the sofa, shirtless and snuggling under a blanket.

Tired from not sleeping the night before, Ron closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the back of Harry's head, and drifted off to sleep.

"Ron… Ron, wake up."

"Wuzit? Whozair?"

"It's Harry."

Snapping awake, Ron bolted upright and looked at Harry, who was putting his shirt on.

"Sorry," Harry said, gently touching Ron's cheek. "Someone's at the door."

His head swivelled abruptly towards the door just as there was a knock.

Harry handed Ron his shirt and stood up. Ron pulled the shirt over his head and got up to follow behind Harry, his hand resting on his wand in his back pocket. "Check to see who it is first."

"Okay." Harry looked through the peephole in the door before opening it to reveal Jim, Andy, and Scott. "Hi. You lot stopping to say…" Harry's voice trailed off and Ron knew why. Jim's shirt was splattered with blood and he was holding his hand, the knuckles cut, red, and swollen.

"What happened?" Ron asked as the trio walked through the door.

"Jim punched Mark in the nose," Scott said.

"Yeah, I think he broke it too," added Andy.

"What? Why?" Harry asked.

"You got ice for this?" Jim said, holding up his bruised hand.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'll get it."

"Scott, will you get me a clean shirt?" Jim said. He pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Scott. "There's a blue sweatshirt in the trunk of my car."

Harry came back with ice wrapped in a towel and Jim put it on his hand.

Jim looked at Harry and smiled. "Thanks."

"That happened from punching Mark?" Harry asked.

"No," Andy said, rolling his eyes. "That happened when he bunched the brick wall after they threw him out of Nobody's."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "And whose blood is that all over your shirt?"

"Mark's. From his nose. I put him in a headlock when he tried to take a swing at me."

"What did you punch Mark for?" Ron asked. "Was Shawn there?"

"That was the problem," Andy said. "Shawn wasn't there and Mark was acting like a skank with some twink."

Ron looked at Harry for translation. "Huh?"

"Mark was snogging another bloke," Harry explained.

"Oh… Oh! That fucking bastard! He was cheating on Shawn!" Ron knew he would've hit him too and if Jim's hand wasn't so sore, he would've shaken it.

"We don't know," Andy said. "No one's heard from Shawn in days. Have you?"

Ron and Harry shook their heads.

Scott returned with Jim's shirt.

"You didn't have to hit him," Scott said. "You could get in a lot of trouble. You are a cop."

"Nah," Jim said, shaking his head. "He won't report me. That twinkie he's with is a big ecstasy dealer."

Harry leaned over and whispered in Ron's ears. "Illegal drugs."

"I told them if they called the cops, they'd be sharing the cell with me. They were both high as kites."

"But why'd you hit him?" Harry asked.

"He called Shawn something that I didn't like."

Scott harrumphed.

"You got a problem, Scott?" Jim asked menacingly.

"Just ironic, is all. You give Shawn shit all the time."

"I don't call Shawn close to anything that he said!"

"You call him an idiot all the time!" Scott argued back.

"I tell him to stop _acting_ like an idiot. That's different. And he's our Shawn. We can call him what we want. That fucking bastard doesn't get to call him anything!"

"We should go to Shawn's house," Andy said, obviously trying to derail an argument. "He can get pretty depressed after a break-up."

They all agreed and left Ron's to pile into Andy's 4x4 since they wouldn't fit into Jim's car.

Shawn's house was a small cottage close to where Ron had first Apparated into New Hope. There was only a faint light on in the house and they knocked twice with no answer. Ron put his ear to the door and listened.

"Who's Mandy?" Ron asked.

"Oh, boy, he's listening to Barry and not Cher," Andy said. "It must be really bad."

They continued to knock on the door for at least five minutes, and just as Jim suggested they break the door down, Shawn yelled back telling them to go away. His voice sounded raw and shaky and filled Ron with concern.

"Listen, why don't you lot go back and sit in the car? It's cold. I'll try to get him to unlock the door," Ron said. "He might feel better talking one-on-one."

They nodded and left; Jim looking the most reluctant.

Ron waited until the other men got back into the car and then hid himself in the shadow of the tree next to the step. He pulled out his wand and whispered, "Alohomora."

Right inside the door was the sitting room. Shawn was sitting on the sofa, hugging his knees to his chest. He wore only a dressing gown and a pair of white socks with holes in both of the big toes.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked, sounding surprised, but not angry.

Ron waved his hands in the air. "Magic," he said very dramatically.

It looked like it hurt him to do so, but Shawn smiled. "You're so strange, Ronnie."

Ron sat down next to him and looked over the coffee table that was littered with empty Diet Coke cans, empty rum bottles, crumpled up chocolate bar wrappers, and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.

"I didn't know you smoked," Ron said.

"I don't. I thought it might help it go away."

"Help what go away?"

"The pain," Shawn said and let out a small sob.

Unsure of what to do, Ron tentatively reached out and patted Shawn's shoulder. Shawn immediately leaned over and buried his face in Ron's chest.

"S'kay… s'kay…" Ron murmured as he soothingly pet Shawn's hair. "Fuck him. That bastard doesn't deserve you and I bet that he had a really tiny todger too."

Shawn giggled and pinched Ron's side playfully before pulling away. "You stole all my good consoling lines."

"I'm sorry, Shawn," Ron said sincerely. "I know you really fancied him. And I really do think he's a total wanker for breaking up with you."

Sniffing, Shawn wiped his nose on a tissue he had pulled from his pocket. "He didn't. I broke up with him."

"Now I'm confused," Ron said, frowning thoughtfully.

"He is a total _wanker_. That's why I broke up with him. He was embarrassed of me… of us. I understood why he didn't want me around his kid. That can be confusing to a kid, you know? So I didn't argue, but then he would go off and have dinner with his sister and her husband or his mom and dad and not ask to me to join them. I waited, figuring it'd just take time for him to get used to being open about being gay. But then his grandfather died and I wanted to go to the funeral with him and he said no, that his family would get really upset." Shawn took a deep shaky breath. "I can't go back into the closet, Ron. I gave up my family to be true to myself. I wasn't going to go back into hiding again for him and his family. So I told him that. And he said some really nasty things. He said that if I didn't act like a flaming fag maybe he wouldn't be so embarrassed to have me around his family."

"Bastard! Fuck him. I'm not joking, Shawn. Fuck him! He doesn't deserve you!"

"You're so sexy when you're angry, Ronnie," Shawn said and he sounded a bit more like himself.

"I'm dead serious, Shawn. Any bloke would be lucky to have you. You're smart, funny, and you care loads about your mum and your friends too. And they care about you too! Jim punched Mark in the nose. Andy reckons he broke it too."

"Really?" Shawn looked wide-eyed at Ron. "Jim… Jim punched Mark?"

"That's right," a voice said from the doorway. Ron turned to see Jim standing there. The rest of them stood right behind him. "You should've called one of us, Shawn."

"I know," Shawn said. They all entered the house and sheepishly Shawn looked from one to the other, his eyes landing lastly on Jim. "Thanks. I really appreciate… it helps. Oh… Jim!" Shawn stood up and ran to Jim. "Your hand! Come into the kitchen. I'll get you some ice."

"Thanks, but I'm fine really," Jim said.

Shawn looked disappointed that Jim didn't let him help, but Andy stepped in and convinced Shawn to take a shower, assuring him that it'd make him feel better. The rest of them went about cleaning the house. By the time they left, promising to take Shawn for breakfast in the morning, Shawn and the house looked and smelt much better.

"Shit," Jim said as Andy's car pulled out in front of Nobody's. "I left my keys at your house, Ron."

"I can fetch them for you and bring them back," Harry suggested.

"No, I'll just go with you," Jim said and got out of the car behind Ron.

"Night," Andy and Scott hollered as they drove off.

They walked off in silence. Jim finally speaking as they approached Ron's house. "Sorry about all this."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Ron said as he unlocked the door. "I would've done the same thing if I'd been you. I just wish I could've been there to see that wanker's nose bust open."

Jim, who was walking in directly behind Ron, put his hand on his shoulder. "Thanks."

"Jim, why don't you stay for a bit?" Ron asked. "I think we can all use a drink. How about you, Harry?"

"Ron…" Harry's voice was strained. Ron knew that tone. Very few people had ever heard Harry sound like that, but Ron was one of them, and he knew instantly and without doubt that Harry was afraid.

He spun around and at the same time reached for his wand.

"Don't even think about it!"

Ron froze, panic seizing his thoughts and paralysing him, as he stared at Harry's ashen face and the gleaming metal barrel of a gun pressing into Harry's temple.


	16. A New Enemy

**A New Enemy**

"Ron?" Harry inhaled the name and it sounded like a desperately-drawn breath.

Harry and Ron locked eyes. Harry's bore into Ron's, searching them for answers. Ron took a few steps forward. "Harry… it'll be okay."

"Don't move!" The thick arm encircling Harry's neck tightened. Harry made a choking noise and started to struggle, clawing at the man's forearm.

"Ron – _Harry_, listen to him," Jim said sternly, but calmly. 

Ron backed away from Harry only a few feet, but it felt like miles.

"Stop it, Potter!" The man grabbed the back of Harry's hair and bent his neck back. The gun moved to Harry's cheek. "Don't try to be a hero! Though, you've given that line of work up, haven't you?"

"He won't," said Ron. "Harry, please, just do what he says!"

Harry nodded the best he could and the man wrapped his arm back around his neck. 

"What do you want?" Jim asked.

"What the fuck are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here!"

Something about the man's voice sounded familiar. Ron couldn't see him clearly. Harry's head blocked half his face. 

"Listen, pal," Jim began and put up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "We'll do whatever you want. You just have to tell us what you want first."

"I _want_ you to shut the fuck up! That's what I want." The man slammed the door closed with his foot. He moved slightly to the side and Ron recognised the man's wide square face immediately.

"You… I know _you_… you're that Muggle wandmaker," Ron said, pointing his finger at the man.

"I'm not a Muggle! And don't point at me!"

"You're not a wizard… why would a wizard make a magicless wand? But you know how to make a wand look just like… oh! You're a squib!"

Ron's subconscious sent up a red flag. He'd only known two real squibs in his life – Mrs Figg, a sweet old lady who helped take care of Harry, and Filch, a bitter angry man with a chip on his shoulder the size of Hagrid's fist. Ron felt secure assuming that this squib fell into the latter category.

"I said shut up! Don't call me a squib, _traitor_!"

"His name's Jake," Ron said to Jim. "He works in a shop on Main Street."

"Shut up!" Jake moved forward, pushing Harry with him. "Who are you?"

"Jim."

"Shit - shit." Jake blinked rapidly a few times. "You're the cop, aren't you?"

Jim nodded.

"Okay – okay. Shit! Shit! Fuck!"

"Jake, just tell us what you want," Jim said with a cool even tone.

Jake looked back and forth from Ron to Jim. Harry's face had changed. He now wore a vacant expressionless look that worried Ron more than when he looked afraid.

"I want your weapons first," Jake said slowly, appearing to be working out the plan as he went along. "All right. Weasley, tell him where your wand is and Jim I want you to get it and give it to me – _slowly_."

Ron wondered what Jim must be thinking about all this, but if Jim thought any of it odd, he wasn't showing it in his face. He looked cool and in control. The exact opposite of how Ron felt.

"It's in my right back pocket," said Ron.

Jim lifted Ron's coat and shirt and Ron felt the wand slide out of his jeans.

Jake snatched the wand out of Jim's hand and swiftly slipped it into his back pocket. "Good. Now, Jim, do you have a gun? And don't lie or I'll make you strip naked right here."

"Yeah," Jim said. "A leg holster. Left leg."

"Go ahead, Weasley. Get it. Same drill. Slowly!"

Ron knelt down and reached for Jim's pant leg. "Other left," Jim whispered. He reached for the other pant leg, pulled it up, and revealed a gun strapped to Jim's calf. Ron snapped open the strap securing the gun and carefully pulled the gun out.

Ron had learned from Jake's handling of the weapons that Jake was smart and could think quickly on his feet. The wand in Jim's hand was useless, and Ron knew you had to pull the trigger of the gun to make it fire bullets, but he didn't know if that was all you had to do. He would never risk Harry's life trying to figure it out.

He handed the gun to Jake, who put it in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. Harry never moved, even when Jake repositioned the gun from the side of head to his ribs.

"Now where's your wand?" he asked, glaring at the side of Harry's face.

"He doesn't –"

"I'm not talking to you, Weasley. Where is it, Potter?"

"He doesn't have it!" Ron shouted.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Jake's face reddened with rage. Harry flinched and Ron couldn't see, but he knew Jake had dug the gun harder into Harry's ribs.

"He doesn't have it!" Ron repeated. He had to decide what to do and quickly; give up their last means of defence, Harry's wand hidden, unbeknownst to anyone, in his sock. Or reveal Harry's weakness.

"Potter doesn't have a wand? Yeah, right." Jake began searching through Harry's pockets. "Stop playing fucking games with me!"

"I don't have a wand," Harry said in a low and dangerous voice.

Ron cursed silently. A sudden outburst of magic from Harry could be disastrous.

"He has amnesia," Ron said. "He doesn't know that he's a wizard. I'm not lying, mate."

"Fuck you!" Jake shouted. "Don't you call me mate, you fucking bastard!" He pointed the gun towards Ron. "You… you and this so-called fucking hero are dark wizards! Murderers! You murdered your own kind for the Muggles –"

"What? No – no we didn't! Please, listen to me, we didn't. We didn't murder anyone," Ron argued, but Jake didn't appear to be listening as he searched Harry's pants for his wand.

Looking frustrated, Jake shoved Harry forward. Harry stumbled. Ron grabbed his shoulders until he had his balance again. "Don't touch him! Stand next to the cop, Potter." Harry did as he'd been told and they all stood there, lined up in a row.

"Fuck!" Jake's hand shook as he brushed his sweaty fringe from his forehead. "You –" He pointed the gun towards Jim. Jim flinched, showing the first sign of fear since the ordeal had begun. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Let him go," Ron said. "Just let him go and we'll go with you without any trouble. You can turn us in."

"I don't think that was Jake's plan," Jim said flatly. "Was it, Jake?"

"Sorry, buddy. You weren't supposed to be here. I'll end up in some Muggle jail if I let you go."

"That's not smart, Jake," Jim said. "Killing a cop."

"What?" Ron swivelled his wide-eyed stare from Jake to Jim. "Killing? You're not going to just turn us in. Fuck! Jake, honestly, you have to believe me. I know what you heard, but it's all a set-up!"

Jake turned the gun on Ron. "Liar! You fucking dirty filthy liar! You're a traitor!"

"Get that thing out of his face," Harry said angrily.

"Fuck you, Potter! How dare you talk to me! We all celebrated! We lived in fear that that fucking maniac and his army would win and we celebrated that day when you destroyed him. _I_ was there at the World Cup in '94." Angry words and spit flew furiously out of Jake's mouth. He aimed the gun at Harry, jerking it back and forth as he ranted. "I was there! I knew what they were capable of. I lived in fear! But it was all a ruse - a fucking ruse just so you could gain everyone's trust and then replace Voldemort."

"It wasn't," Ron said, trying to keep the pitch and tone of his voice even. He knew if they were going to get out of this alive and unharmed, Jake needed to calm down and so did Harry.

"He wanted _power_ and you're just a fucking loser. Potter's the one with all the power and you're a nobody!"

As Jake stood their panting, his face purple with rage with his gun back on Ron, Ron stared into the barrel of it, wishing that he was a better wizard, that he had practised wandless magic more, and cursing himself for letting his guard down.

"This isn't how to do this," Jim said. "You killing us isn't justice. If you believe they've committed a crime, you've got them. They can't go anywhere. Turn them over to the authorities. Let them punish them."

"You don't know shit, Muggle," said Jake. "The Aurors will come and do it anyway. Then they'll be the heroes. Well, I'm the one that found them! I'm going to be the hero."

"Jake, we'll do whatever you say," Ron said. "The Minister, he's the one that –"

"Enough talking!" His thumb pulled back a lever on the gun and Ron heard a click. "I've got two guns and three victims. By the time the stupid Muggle cops figure out that you all didn't shoot each other, I'll be _long_ gone."

Ron knew this was it. He had to do something fast or they were all going to die.

Jake pointed the gun directly at Harry's chest. Ron had no other alternative. He leapt between the gun and Harry, reaching out and grabbing Jake's wrist. It seemed to happen simultaneously; Ron heard a loud pop that exploded in his ears, he saw a flash, and a searing pain tore through his right bicep.

He heard Jim swear and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him lunge at Jake's waist. He hit Ron too and the three of them tumbled to the floor. Ron rolled away and reached for Harry's wand in his sock, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm. He pointed the wand at Jake, hoping that the spell would work on a Muggle weapon and with a wand not his own, and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

The gun didn't fly out of Jake's hand, but it twitched violently and gave Jim the opportunity to twist Jake's wrist until he dropped it. Jim shoved it away.

"Bastard!" Jake yelled and kicked Ron, hard, directly on his injury. The pain that shot through Ron's arm blinded him. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the bile that had risen into his mouth. When he opened his eyes, Jake and Jim were both standing, Jim cocked his arm back to hit Jake, but Jake had already started to move and in flash had Jim's own gun pointed at his face.

Jake pulled the trigger.

Ron's heart froze. 

Nothing happened.

Jim's fist hurled forward and landed across Jake's jaw. "Safety-lock, asshole!"

Jake fell to the ground, but only for a second. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. He opened it just as Jim grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him backwards. Jake turned, swinging a fist and made direct contact with the side of Jim's head.

Lifting Harry's wand, Ron shouted, "Move, Jim, now!" Jim dove out of the way. Ron's stunner spell hit Jake dead on and he crumbled to the ground.

Ron's temper zoomed through him. He made a beeline for Jake. The pain in his arm only fuelled the fury that raged through him. "Bloody fucking bastard!"

Jake wasn't entirely stunned. He looked up Ron with confused, cloudy eyes. Ron rolled him over and took his wand back. "Finite Incantatem." It took a few seconds for the dazed look in Jake's eyes to clear and when they did, they widened in fear. "You bastard! You fucking daft squib!" Ron shouted, waving his wand in front of Jake's face, so that he would be sure to know who was in charge now. "How dare you judge Harry!"

"Ron!" Jim yelled from behind him.

Ron ignored him and pushed the wand into the tender pliable flesh under Jake's chin. "If I was half of what you thought I was, I'd kill you right now! I know spells that would make you beg for a fucking Unforgivable!"

"Ron!"

There was a quick flash of ginger fur to the side of them, and Ron looked up to watch Ginger running out the front door. "Ginger!" he yelled. "Fuck! Come back!"

"Ron! Leave him. It's Har-Harry…" Jim's voice trembled.

Ron turned around to see Harry sitting on the floor, panting and looking confused, his right hand inside his coat.

"Harry!" Ron stood and was only vaguely aware that Jake did as well. The sound of thundering footsteps behind him registered in Ron's brain what was happening.

Ron aimed his wand at the back running across the grass and shouted, "Stupefy!"

Jake collapsed flat on his face.

Ron raced over and fell to his knees next to Harry just as Harry slipped into unconsciousness. Jim caught him and, holding his head, led him carefully to the floor.

"What happened?" Ron asked, lifting the flap on Harry's coat. "Fuck!" Ron looked at the growing patch of blood across Harry's shoulder and chest. "How? There was only one shot and it hit me."

"Take your coat off." Jim looked at Ron's arm. "It only grazed you. It ripped through your skin and hit Harry."

"I... can heal this. Maybe I can… did it go through Harry too?"

Jim lifted Harry and looked at his back. He shook his head. "There's no exit wound."

"I can't heal it. I don't know how to get a bullet out!"

"Can you heal that?" Jim asked, pointing to Ron's shoulder.

Ron lifted his wand and mumbled the spell he had heard his mother cast a thousand times when she healed cuts and gashes acquired from rough play. The skin around the wound grew hot and it tightened. When the throbbing stopped, he knew that it'd been healed.

"Holy shit," Jim mumbled, sounding both stunned and impressed.

"We have to get Harry help," Ron said.

Reaching past Ron, Jim grabbed the towel that they had used earlier for his hand. He handed it to Ron. "Here. Hold this over the wound. Apply pressure, but not too hard. It'll slow down the bleeding. I'm going to get my car. It'll be faster than waiting for an ambulance."

Shaking, Ron put the towel on Harry's wound and held it there. Harry looked pale, but Ron could see his chest moving up and down.

"Ambulance? Wait. No. We can't take Harry to hospital! I have to get Harry out of here. I don't know who else that bloody bastard told. They'll come looking for Harry. We can't –"

"Ron, we have no other choice," Jim said as he grabbed his keys that he'd come back for off the table. "You said you can't fix him. Do you have any friends here that can?"

Ron shook his head. "No… we don't. But he can't stay there. They have to heal him quick, so we –"

"Let's just get him there. Okay, Ron?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"I'll be back." Jim picked up both guns. He stopped at the door and gestured outside. "What about…?"

"I'll deal with him before we leave."

Ron looked down at Harry. "That's right, Harry, breathe. Oh fuck, Harry, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I… I should've been on guard. I should've checked behind the door like I was trained. Fuck. I'm so sorry. Please… please don't die." Ron put his hand on Harry's forehead. "You didn't survive everything so some squib with something to prove could kill you." 

Ron bit his lip hard to keep from crying. "I know you don't remember, but you've survived much worse than this. You're the-boy-who-lived. The only person to ever survive the killing curse. The only person that came back from behind the veil and you'll survive this. Please… please I need you."

Jim appeared in the door. "Come on, Ron."

"Jim…" Ron looked at Harry then Jim. "Carry him, please? I have to take care of Jake."

"Sure… sure, Ron."

Trusting Jim to take good care of Harry, Ron ran outside to Jake. Hovering over him, he unstunned him and quickly performed a simple memory charm. Jake got up and stared at Ron for a second before wandering off on wobbly legs towards the street.

Jim stood at the car, scowling at Ron. "What did you do?"

As Ron carefully lifted Harry, slipped in the seat, and laid Harry's head on his lap, he explained. "A memory charm. He forgot who we are. Actually…" Ron chuckled evilly. "He forgot who he is."

"Jesus Christ, Ron!" Jim yelled as he rushed to the driver's seat. "I'm trying to be cool about all this, but you just removed his memory!"

"It'll wear off in a day… maybe two." Jim glanced back, glaring. "Two! I swear no more than two."

Shaking his head, Jim grabbed his mobile.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Jim Sullivan. I'm in route to Doylestown hospital with a shooting victim. I'm requesting an escort. I'm in a civilian vehicle - blue Honda accord sedan. PA license bravo-charlie-echo-one-four-five-eight. I'll be on 202 south in approximately three minutes. Over."

Ron couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but it must've been to Jim's satisfaction because he said 'thank you' and hung up. He hit another number and put the mobile back up to his ear. "A three-six-nine badge number seven-four-six-zero coming in with a shooting victim. Male. Mid-20s. With a gunshot wound to his right shoulder. Requesting a stretcher and a team waiting at emergency."

Jim drove and talked. He only slowed down and paused before going through red lights. Only a few minutes after Jim hung up with dispatch, Ron heard sirens approaching. He looked out the back window and saw a police car coming up behind him. As the car passed on the right, Jim gave a wave. As soon as the car with the flashing lights was in front of them, they picked up speed. Soon another police car joined them and flanked their rear.

"We'll be there soon," said Jim.

For some reason, this is what finally brought tears to Ron's eyes. He looked down at Harry. "See, mate?" Ron whispered. "See how many people care about you? You can't die and leave them… or me. The Muggles will fix you up and we'll be home soon."

Harry's eyes fluttered and he moaned. "Harry?"

"Ron?"

"I'm here, Harry. You're going to be okay."

"Ron…" Harry's voice was faint, weak. Ron leaned down to hear him better. "My… my wand. Where's my wand? I… can't… protect… you… without my wand."

"Oh fuck." Ron smiled in spite of the situation. "You're a fucking nutter, you are. This is when you decide to remember."

"My wand…"

"Okay," Ron said and pulled Harry's wand out of his pocket. He put it in Harry's hand and curled his fingers around it. "It's right here. You can protect us," Ron whispered, but Harry had already fallen back into unconsciousness.

Ron put his hand over Harry's and closed his eyes. _'I love you, Harry. You can't die. Don't die… don't die… please don't die…'_


	17. A New Farewell

**A New Farewell**

Ron paced around the small room that Jim had shoved him into and ordered him to _'stay put'_ because Ron kept getting in everyone's way and demanding to know exactly what they were doing to Harry every time someone touched him.

Half-glass walls gave Ron a clear view of Jim talking to the two police officers who'd escorted them there. A man in a long white coat, which Ron knew meant that he was someone on the hospital staff, approached Jim. Jim turned towards Ron and, as if he knew what Ron was thinking, put up his finger and mouthed _'stay.'_

A few minutes later, Ron stopped pacing and waited anxiously by the door as Jim approached alone.

Over Jim's shoulder, Ron could see a bed rolling past them. He caught a glimpse of Harry's black hair and he tried to get by Jim, but Jim blocked the door with his body.

"Let me go with him!" Ron shouted, shoving Jim's shoulder back.

Jim held his ground. "They're taking him up to surgery."

"_Surgery_?" Ron had heard the term used by Hermione and her mum after they removed Mr Granger's gallbladder. He didn't know much about it, except that Muggle doctors had to cut the patient open. An image of Harry being strapped down screaming and pleading for help as the Muggles sliced him open with a knife flashed through Ron's mind. "No! I'm putting a stop to this. I'll ring my friend Hermione."

"Ron, they've got to remove the bullet _now_ and repair the damage it caused. If she can't be here in five minutes, then it's too long!"

"Fuck!" Ron balled his hand into a fist, his instincts commanding him to hit something to release the anger and frustration that had built up inside of him.

Jim grabbed his wrist. "Trust me, Ron. They'll take care of him." He held on, strong, but soothing, until Ron unclenched his fist. Jim held out his hand. Harry's glasses rested in his palm. "Here. Hold these for him."

Ron took them, holding them in his hand gently. "How do they remove the bullet?"

"They'll make an incision and -"

"See that's barbaric! He'll be terrified!"

"He'll be unconscious through the entire thing," Jim said, looking at Ron as if he'd gone mad.

"Unconscious? Are you sure? How do they…? They don't hit him or hurt him – do they?"

"No," Jim said, his cool exterior cracking a little and letting a small smile come through. "They'll give him drugs. They do this all the time. He'll be okay."

Ron didn't like the sound of the Muggle's archaic healing methods. He shook his head, unconvinced. "I have to be there with him! What if something goes wrong? What if they find us? What if wakes up? He remembers now and —"

"It doesn't work that way, Ron. We can't go into the surgery room, but –"

"You can't stop me! You _know_ what I can do!"

"But…" Jim said louder over Ron's raving. "I told the doctor that Harry's an eyewitness to a crime and that he must be under constant police surveillance. So we can go upstairs and wait outside the surgery room."

"Quick thinking," Ron said, still not completely satisfied, but impressed by Jim's efforts.

"People love to think they're part of some sort of drama. They'll believe anything if you make them feel important."

Ron followed Jim into an empty lift. They both leaned against the back wall as it went upward to the twelfth floor.

"What did you tell the other policemen?" Ron asked.

"I lied," Jim said simply, not offering any other explanation and Ron didn't ask.

He glanced at Jim. Jim looked worn out. Ron knew that everything Jim had done to get Harry to the hospital had put Jim's job in jeopardy. He didn't know how to say thank you.

A nurse greeted them and led them to two folding chairs set up outside a pair of blue doors. She informed them that this was the only door into the surgery area and no one could go in or out without passing by them.

Jim pulled a chair next to the other and they sat down.

"Want some coffee?" Jim asked.

"Nah."

Ron took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled out through his mouth trying to calm down and focus. He wanted to call Hermione, but she'd insist on coming immediately. Though Ron would give anything right now for her experience as a suitable Healer, he had to keep her safe. Here with him and Harry was anything but safe.

Things were different now. Harry remembered. He could tell them all the truth and testify against Scrimgeour, if he survived the surgery. Ron shook his head, ridding himself of negative thoughts. He had to stay positive for Harry.

He blamed himself. He'd been trained how to protect someone, but he'd become too comfortable. He'd let himself get wrapped up in Harry's fantasy life and almost got them all killed.

"What you did… back there at the house," Jim said, looking intensely at Ron. "It was amazing."

Ron smiled. He'd been expecting the questions. "Yeah. I should explain about the magic. We're –"

"No – I mean, I'm wondering about that too, but I was talking about jumping in front of that gun."

"Fat load of good it did," Ron mumbled.

"It did a lot of good," argued Jim. "If you hadn't, that bullet would've hit Harry square in the chest and he wouldn't've had any chance." Jim put his hand on Ron's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Ron, Harry's young and healthy. He'll pull through this. I've seen a lot of these types of wounds. I'm sure he'll be okay… because of _you_ – he'll be okay."

Ron shrugged and picked at a scab from one of Ginger's scratches on his wrist. He felt a sickening jerk in his stomach when he thought about her running away.

"Now… about all of that _other_ stuff you did. So… you're a wizard? Is that what you call yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And Harry can do all that magic stuff too?"

Ron nodded. "Much better than I can."

"That answers a few questions."

"Huh?"

Jim scratched his chin. "I saw some strange things happen around him. Once – it was a few weeks after he first got here – this guy was coming on to him at Nobody's. He got real touchy. Harry got angry, but in that quiet, seething way, and the next thing I knew the guy was covered in these huge disgusting boils. Everyone said it was an allergic reaction, but I didn't think so."

Ron laughed, thinking that the bloke deserved it. "Yeah, that was Harry. He has a tough time controlling his magic when he's angry."

"He knocked me off my feet once. He had one of those bad dreams. I guess you know about those?"

Ron nodded.

"He locked himself in the bathroom. I used to let him be, but one night he came out and I tried to hold him. Knocked me right on my ass. He argued that he pushed me and after a while I thought that maybe he had."

"Harry's good at that," Ron said, smiling.

"At what? Knocking people on their asses?"

"I meant pushing people away." Ron chuckled. "Actually, he's the one usually getting knocked on his arse. He's been knocked around quite a bit."

"Why? What was all that hero stuff Jake was talking about?"

"How long does surgery usually take?"

"Could be hours. Why?"

"We're going to need it," Ron said. He leaned forward, rested his crossed arms on his knees, and told Jim the story of Harry Potter, some of it the stories that made up the legends, but most of it the real story of an exceptional friend and a true hero who risked everything to save the world and wanted nothing but an ordinary life in return. The story led into an explanation of pure-bloods, half-bloods, Muggle-borns, and squibs. Jim listened attentively, smiling whenever Ron spoke of Harry's stubbornness and determination.

"This Voldemort and his followers— they could've taken over the world with that kind of power," Jim said, looking drained.

"Yeah."

"But you can do good things too. I saw you heal yourself. You could help people and not just wizards."

Ron shook his head sadly. "Really? Do you reckon that's all the rest of the world would want to use us for?"

"Muggles – us - we aren't _all_ bad, Ron."

"I know they're – you're not. But…" Ron took a deep breath and told Jim everything about what the politicians, both Muggle and wizard, had done that put them in this predicament and how they were now on the most wanted list in both worlds.

"I read about those deaths in the paper." Jim sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. "I guess you're right. We'd abuse it. Scientists would want to cut you all open to see why you could do these things and they can't."

"And use us to gain all sorts of power."

Jim gave him a small smile. "You're right. We have to get Harry out of here. My dad has a small cabin in the Pocono Mountains. He used to use it for hunting, but now it's mostly just for fishing trips in the summer. There's no one there. We can get there in an hour and a half."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Ron said, shaking his head. "As soon as that bullet is out, I'm bringing Harry back to Hermione so she can heal him up proper."

"Do you think Harry remembers his time here? I know you said your friend thought he wouldn't."

"Dunno," Ron said and he looked down at his trainers, hoping Jim got the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. He had pushed his selfish hopes that Harry would remember aside in order to concentrate on hoping that Harry would survive. That was all that mattered now. Ron would be happy going back to being only best mates as long as Harry was alive and with him.

The doors swung open and both of them jumped out of their seats. An older gentleman with white hair and a beard to match smiled at them.

"You're the officers assigned to watching," he looked at a clipboard in his hand, "Joe Parker?"

"Oh," Ron said dejectedly. "That's not –"

"Yes," Jim said certainly.

"He's fine. We've moved him to recovery," the man said. "The bullet did cause some significant damage to a muscle and he'll have permanent nerve damage."

"What? You can't fix that?" Ron asked crossly.

"Physical therapy will help, but he'll never have a hundred percent use of his arm. Believe me, he was very lucky if that's the worst of it."

Ron snorted, annoyed at the Muggle's failure. He'd seen Harry's bones regrown back. Hermione could fix Harry up in no time.

"When can we talk to him?" Jim asked.

"He's still unconscious. We'll move him to a room soon. You should be able to talk to him in a half an hour or so."

"Make sure he gets a private room," Jim said.

The man nodded and walked back through the doors.

"Ron, I'm sorry. But the doctor's right. It could've been worse,"

Ron put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "He's all right. Magic can fix the rest."

* * *

Hermione's mobile rang three times before she picked it up.

"Ron, is everything okay?" she asked, foregoing a greeting.

"Harry's okay now, but –"

"Now? What happened?"

"He was shot, but the Muggles took the bullet out."

"Shot!" she shouted in the phone.

Ron heard his mum in the background. "Shot? Shot with what? Who was shot? Is Ronnie okay?"

"Harry. Ron said that he's okay," Hermione said. "Who shot him, Ron?"

"A squib. He recognised us. He must've followed us or asked around and found out where we lived. He surprised us at my house."

"What? Why don't you know? Didn't you question him?"

"No, I modified his memory and let him go."

"Ron, why'd you do that? He tried to kill Harry!"

"Because there wasn't time to do anything else! Harry was bleeding. There was so much blood, Hermione and I…"

"It's okay," Hermione said her voice softening. "The Muggle doctors. They said Harry'll be all right?"

Ron explained what the doctor had said.

"That can be healed up very easily," Hermione said.

Ron grinned proudly. "And for some good news – he remembers, Hermione. Or at least he did on the way to the hospital. He was a bit delirious, but he wanted his wand. As soon as he wakes up, I'll Portkey us home."

"No, you can't," Hermione said gloomily.

"_No? _Hermione, we have to get him home! I don't know who that squib told and he can –"

"You can't Portkey him home, Ron."

"Bloody hell! Why not?"

"I don't think the stitches will hold up in the process and the wound may reopen. Inside a force that great… I'm sure it would increase the bleeding. I don't know for certain because it's never been done before, but I don't want to test it out on Harry and have him bleed to death on the trip home."

"Fuck!" Ron kicked a nearby metal rubbish bin.

"You have to get him somewhere safe."

"Obviously, Hermione," Ron said sarcastically.

"Don't snap at me, Ron."

"S'ry. There's… we have somewhere we can go. Jim has a place we can go and hide – a cabin in the mountains. You can meet us there and heal him so we can get him home."

"I have to be here for the meeting of the Wizengamot. The Chief Warlock called in the Supreme Mugwump since the Americans are involved and we think other nations too. I have a lot of information that I have to present.

"I'm going to send Dobby with potions. House-elves are very good healers. He'll heal Harry properly. Once Harry's better, we can bring him home."

"Will Harry be able to make it in time to testify?"

"Ron… let's wait and see. He may not be ready."

"But he remembers and he can tell us –"

"Don't force him to talk about it if he doesn't want to, Ron."

"Hermione, do you know something that you're not telling me?"

"I haven't found out anything since I sent you that letter. I have to know where you'll be. Is Jim there with you?"

"He's inside. I couldn't use the mobile in there."

"Okay. Ask him for the location of the cabin and ring me back. I'll give you instructions on how to transport Harry safely."

Ron turned off his mobile and shoved it in his pocket. A few people were outside the hospital smoking fags. None of them looked at him as he walked past. They all looked glum, hopeless. Ron shuddered. He couldn't get out of this place fast enough.

* * *

Ron opened the door to Harry's room slowly. He paused in the doorway, composing what he'd say, how he'd explain everything.

Jim gently nudged him forward.

As Ron walked further into the room, his trainers making an eerie squeaky sound along the shiny polished floor, Harry came into view. His pale skin blended into the stark white sheet that was pulled up under his arms. He wore nothing on his chest, except for a gauze bandage wrapped around the injury on his shoulder. Ron's eyes traced the wires attached to Harry to machines filled with lights and lines, blinking green, red, and yellow.

Groggily Harry opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

Ron opened the stems on Harry's glasses and slid them on Harry's face.

Harry licked his chapped lips before smiling slightly. "All right?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah. Bloody brilliant. You?"

"I've got a few questions."

"Thought you might."

"Why am I in hospital?"

"You were shot. Harry, we're in America."

"I'd worked that much out for myself, seeing how everyone taking care of me has an American accent."

"Do you remember how you got here?"

"No," Harry said.

Ron's heart sank.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, looking straight at Jim standing by the door.

Ron looked at Jim, whose blue eyes looked back at him with compassion. "That's Jim," he said, trying to sound casual. "He's a friend."

Harry looked away and back at Ron. "You have to go, Ron. Don't worry about me. I –"

"Just shut it, Harry Potter. I'm not going anywhere. We're here to bring you somewhere safe."

"Scrimgeour… he…"

"He wants _both_ of us dead. We're in this _together_."

"Do you know what happened? Do you know what I did?"

"Not everything. We know Scrimgeour was working with the Muggles to kill politicians."

Harry closed his eyes. "I only wanted to protect you and Hermione… I..." Harry's breathing became laboured.

"S'kay, mate. Relax. There's plenty of time to explain."

"Percy… Ron…" Harry flinched in pain. "I'm so sorry about Percy."

Ron shushed him. "You have to rest. Hermione's mixing up healing potions for you. If I don't take good care of you, she'll cut off my bollocks."

"Is she here?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No, she's back in London. Jim and I are going to get you out of here to a safe place."

Harry closed his eyes again. "I'm tired. I think they… gave me… something to sleep."

"Then sleep. Don't worry about anything."

Gently Ron took Harry's hand. Harry's eyes widened at the touch and he looked down at his hand. The machine behind Ron beeped faster. Startled, Ron turned around towards the sound, slightly pulling his hand away. Harry clutched it, stopping him.

"Sleep, Harry," Ron said, running his thumb soothingly over the back of Harry's hand.

For a few minutes, Harry fought the drug tugging him back to sleep. He looked at Ron, his eyes examining Ron's face as if he couldn't believe that he was real, until his eyes unfocused and his eyelids wilted.

Harry's hand relaxed in his. Ron leaned down and briefly touched Harry's lips, knowing it'd be the last time he'd ever be able to do it. They felt brittle and cracked. Ron searched the metal tray next to Harry's bed, looking for something to soothe them.

"Here," Jim said, stepping forward and holding out a small container, the cap already removed so Ron could see the salve inside. He scooped out some on his index finger and rubbed it across Harry's lips.

"Once more wouldn't hurt," Jim said before slipping quietly out the door.

Ron closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of the machine beeping. He knew that it monitored Harry's heartbeat. No one had told him that; he just knew. The night before he'd listened to that same beat with his ear crushed against Harry's naked chest as Harry had tenderly ran his fingers through Ron's hair.

It gave him some comfort knowing that he'd taken none of it for granted and enjoyed every minute of it.

After a brief loving brush of his fingers across Harry's cheek, Ron said good-bye to the most wonderful period in his life and joined Jim in the hall.

They leaned their shoulders against the wall as they talked in hushed tones making plans to get Harry safely out of the building. Ron explained Disillusionment Charms and how he planned on using one and walking by everyone right out the door.

"That's really fucking cool," Jim said.

"Yeah. I reckon it is."

"And your friend will meet us at the cabin to heal Harry?" Jim asked.

"Yeah."

"Then you and Harry will go back to London?"

"As soon as we can."

Jim looked at Ron warily. "But not before you erase my memory."

Ron looked at him for a moment, then shook his head, smiling. "Nah. Not if you don't give me good reason to."


	18. A New Confession

**Chapter Eighteen – A New Confession**

Harry woke up as Ron pulled the seatbelt across him. "Thirsty," he croaked.

"One minute, mate," Ron said, smiling broadly to try to put him at ease.

After clicking the seatbelt into its lock, Ron levitated the two medicine bags that Hermione had explained were filled with antibiotics and painkillers. She'd insisted that he had made sure they were full before they moved Harry. While they had waited for the nurse to refill them, Jim had gone back to Nobody's and brought back Mike's 4x4.

Ron had accepted Jim's reasoning, but now that they had escaped with Harry, he knew the Muggles would contact the police when they realised he was gone, thinking that he'd been kidnapped. If Jim was missing as well, they'd look for him and Jim's car would be unsafe to travel in.

Ron adjusted Harry's seat so that he reclined slightly. He covered Harry up to his neck with a dark blue wool blanket, knowing that the flimsy hospital gown wouldn't be suitable enough to keep Harry warm in the cold December air.

"Comfortable?" Ron asked.

"Funny, you don't look like your mum," quipped Harry.

"You'd rather I let you lie about in that hospital gown with your arse and bits hanging out in the cold?"

Harry chuckled and grimaced in pain. Ron could hear the scratchy rawness in his throat.

Ron ran around to the other side and got into the backseat. Jim pulled a bottle of water from the sack of supplies he'd picked up on his way back to the hospital and handed it to Ron, who smiled fondly, grateful for everything Jim had done for Harry.

"Thanks, mate. Great idea stopping to get food and water."

"No problem," Jim said, smiling back.

Harry was staring at Ron with a slight scowl on his face.

"One second," Ron said, assuming Harry was getting impatient waiting for his drink.

Out of his pocket, Ron pulled the straw that he'd knocked off from the hospital and placed it in the bottle. The straw just touched Harry's lips and he inhaled the water.

"Oy, mate," Ron said, capping the water by squeezing the straw with his thumb and index finger. "Hermione said not to let you drink too much."

Harry took a few more sips and pushed the straw out with his tongue.

"Ready to go, Ron?" Jim asked.

Ron nodded.

The car began to move and Ron breathed a sigh of relief finally to be on a defined path moving towards bringing Harry home.

"Knew you'd look for me," Harry said groggily. "Stubborn git."

"You should've told me that you were going in the first place."

"Well, it didn't take you long – now did it?"

"Er… Harry… uh…" Ron looked at Jim, who'd look backed and gave Ron a supportive smile. "It's December. You were – er – missing for almost a year."

"Funny, Ron."

"I'm not joking."

Harry remained silent for a few moments, biting his bottom lip and searching Ron's face for a sign of humour.

"A _year_?"

"A year, Harry."

Looking shocked, Harry shook his head. "How's that possible? Did someone modify my memory? Was I in a coma?"

"No. Hermione reckons that you had some form of amnesia. You were acting normal, except you didn't know who you were."

"What d'you mean _normal_?"

"You were living here in America. I found you with Jim," Ron gestured with his head towards the driver's seat, "and his friends, living as a Muggle."

Harry looked at the back of the seat in front of him. "He's a Muggle?" he asked in a whisper.

Ron nodded.

"Ron, you know we can't… are you _mad_?"

Ron chuckled. "Come on, Harry. Loads of Muggles know about us. All of the Muggle-borns have Muggles families – obviously."

Harry frowned. "I know that! But they all have someone magical that they care about."

"So does he," Ron said with conviction.

Still frowning, Harry turned and stared out the window.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I… Hogwarts. I remember going to Hogwarts. I knew I had to go away for a while. I went to sleep. I remember waking up…" With his good hand, Harry tucked the blanket tighter around him. "Where's my wand?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Here," Ron said, pulling Harry's wand out of his pocket. Harry took it with his good hand and slipped them both back under the blanket. "I had to take it back before we let the Muggles take care of you."

"I'm… I'm tired, Ron," Harry said.

"Okay," Ron said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. "We can talk later."

Harry's eyes were already closed. A few seconds later his breathing evened out and his lips parted as his jaw relaxed.

"It's the painkillers," Jim said. "He'll be in and out of it as long as he's being pumped with that stuff."

Jim turned the radio on low and hummed along softly to the music. Ron alternated between looking out the window and checking on Harry. Eventually the rosy hued lights aligning the highway were replaced with dense trees, shrouding Harry's figure in darkness. Ron had to lean over and touch Harry to feel the rising and falling of his chest in a sleep steady rhythm.

The monotonous drive tested Ron's own fatigue. He kept yawning and passed each one on to Jim, who would chuckle lightly after each yawn.

"You're going to put me to sleep," Jim joked.

"S'ry." Ron looked at Jim's profile. He looked exhausted. "You did a lot for Harry tonight. We'd probably be dead if it weren't for you. Thanks," he said, finally spitting out what he'd wanted to say for hours.

"Of course I… you're welcome," Jim said and they fell back into silence again.

After about an hour of driving, the horizon outside Ron's window turned to an icy blue. Ron stared out the window as they travelled and watched the eastern sky bloom vibrant tones of orange, pink, and red. By the time the day had dawned, a thick pressure had dulled Ron's hearing and the mountains that had been invisible in the dark were now surrounding them.

Ron looked at Harry, now clearly visible in the morning light. Harry's eyes were open and he stared blankly out the window.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded and promptly shut his eyelids.

The clock on the dashboard displayed seven fifteen. Ron added five hours to it, putting London time at quarter past noon. Hermione had told him that the Wizengamot was meeting at nine a.m. tomorrow. He figured that it wouldn't take more than a few hours, which meant by this time tomorrow it'd all be over.

* * *

The cabin was tiny, but surrounded by a thick forest, isolating it to Ron's satisfaction. The temperature had dropped significantly and Ron shivered as he exited the warmth of the car. He took off his coat and laid it over Harry as he levitated him to the house. Jim suggested they put Harry in the bedroom with only one bed.

Harry woke up as Ron laid him down and he answered all of Ron's questions with no more than single words.

"D'ya want another pillow?" Ron asked, fluffing one in his hand.

"Yes," Harry responded as he straightened his glasses that were knocked crooked during his relocation.

"How about another blanket?"

"No."

"Are you thirsty?"

"No."

"The bottle's right here," Ron said, putting a fresh bottle of water on the stand next to the bed. "Let me know if you want some."

"Okay."

Ron could hear Jim moving around in the other bedroom on the opposite side of the paper thin walls. He had to use the loo, but didn't want to leave Harry until Dobby arrived.

"Harry," Ron continued, "what happened? What's the last thing you remember?"

"It feels like only days – not a year," Harry said broodingly. "I was at Hogwarts. I remember that."

"We know. Dobby told us."

Harry nodded as if resigning himself to the fact that Ron knew more than he wanted him to. "I heard about Percy and I remember going to sleep. I woke up and I was in the halls… I thought that I was dreaming… it's the last thing that I – Ron!" Harry's face finally lost its vacant expression and he looked worriedly at Ron. "You were shot too." His eyes darted to Ron's shoulder and the shirt patched with blood and a tear where the bullet had ripped through it.

"I'm fine," Ron said casually. "But you remember that?"

"Yeah, sort of," Harry said, his brow knitting in frustration. "It's short of hazy like a dream – nightmare. It's as if I went from Hogwarts to you being shot in the span of a minute."

"This'll all be over soon," Ron said as he slid a small wood chair close to Harry's bed. He sat down on the worn red seat cushion and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the bed near Harry's side. He told Harry, who closed his eyes, but didn't sleep, everything that they had uncovered in the last month since Ron had found him. "Hermione reckons that the Wizengamot will believe the American Minister and politician and, at the very least, it'll warrant an investigation into what Scrimgeour's been up to."

"He's smarter than that," Harry said, opening his eyes, but looking forward and not at Ron.

"Nobody's smarter than Hermione," Ron said assuredly. "I'll be over soon, Harry, and you can come home."

"I'm not going home," Harry said despondently, but firmly.

"What d'you mean you're not going home?"

"You shouldn't have come looking for me," Harry said sharply. "You should've left it alone. Ron. They killed Percy because he knew – because he was trying to help me."

"That's bollocks, that is!" Ron glowered at Harry. "I wasn't going to let you –"

"Wha' the fuck!" Jim's voice bellowed through the house.

Instantly Ron grabbed his wand and ran from the room. He opened the door to Jim's bedroom slowly, his wand entering before him. Jim spun around, pointing the gun in his hand at Ron.

"Whoa," Ron said, putting his hands instinctively in the air. "It's just me! Please put that away. I think we've had enough trouble with those awful things."

Jim put the gun in a holster strapped on to his belt, but his head and eyes never stopped darting around the room. "There was… it was… it was green – a green man – a green _thing_. It came out of thin air and disappeared again!"

As if on cue, wails began to stream from Harry's room.

Ron sighed. "That'd be Dobby."

"Dobby your friend? The one who's here to help Harry – he's an alien? A troll? An ogre?"

"An elf. A house-elf, actually." Ron bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. "I'm sorry. I reckon I should've told you."

"Ya think?" Jim brushed angrily by Ron.

Ron opened the door to Harry's bedroom. The wailing had stopped, but Dobby continued to mumble irritably to himself as he removed bottles of potions from a bag.

"Muggles… Muggles taking care of Harry Potter. Unacceptable. Unacceptable."

"Hey, Dobby," Ron said.

"Dobby is here to take care of Harry Potter. He is supposed to undo all of the damage the Muggles did." Dobby climbed up on the chair, leaned over Harry, and carefully started unravelling the bandage covering his shoulder.

"I know, Dobby. Thank you." Ron stepped further into the room and met Harry's eyes. "Harry, can we –"

"Sorry, sir. Harry Potter needs his rest," Dobby said.

"S'ry – s'ry for what?" asked Ron.

Dobby, without as so much of a glance behind him, pointed his finger towards Ron. Suddenly, as if his trainers had wheels on the soles, Ron glided backwards out the door, which promptly slammed in his face.

Jim laughed. Ron turned to see Jim sitting on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other.

"He goes mental when it comes to Harry, that one does," Ron said collapsing on the sofa. He pointed towards the glass of whiskey that Jim rose to his lips. "A bit early for that, mate."

Jim took a gulp and smacked his lips. "In a world where there wasn't little green men that might mean something."

Ron laughed and _Accio_'d a glass from the kitchen. Jim shook his head and poured whiskey into the glass that had flown into Ron's hand.

"You should get some sleep," Jim said. "I put clean towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower first."

Ron shook his head. "No. Dobby may need something. You go on. You look knackered." Ron pointed to the telly. "Does it work?"

"Yeah," Jim said, leaning over the coffee table and turning it on. "Don't know where the remote is though." He flicked through the channels, stopping on a sports channel.

"You don't have to…"

"I know," Jim said, refilling his glass. "D'ya mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Go on."

Jim asked about elves and what other creatures lived in Ron's world. Even to Ron's own ears, his stories of werewolves, giants, trolls, and vampires sounded incredibly sinister and he could imagine how it all sounded to Jim.

"Pretty dangerous being you," Jim said.

Ron shrugged. "I reckon, but it's really great too. I can do this," he said and _Accio_'d a bag of crisps from the kitchen, catching them with a grin.

Jim grinned too. "Yeah, that's pretty cool. Freakin' lazy, but definitely cool."

They settled on the sofa, both putting their feet on the coffee table, and shared the bags of crisps. Eventually the whiskey mixed with Ron's exhaustion and, though he fought it, his eyelids wilted, his chin slumped onto his chest, and he fell to sleep. It felt like only minutes, but it must've been hours because when he woke up, curled in a ball with his head resting on the arm of the sofa, the room was dark.

He knuckled his eyes as he sat up. Jim was gone, but the snoring coming from the bedroom told Ron exactly where he was. Ron stood up, stretched, and opened Harry's bedroom door a crack. Dobby sat next to Harry's bed with his hands on his lap. He looked at Ron, glowering.

Ron respected the lengths that Dobby would go to protect Harry, even if the alleged threats were unwarranted. He knew he could convince Dobby to let him speak with Harry, but instead, tired of Harry pushing him away, Ron just glanced at his sleeping friend and closed the door. He didn't know how to interpret their brief and cryptic conversations, but each one had left Ron with a profound sense of foreboding. His instincts told him there was more to the story than he knew and he had a strong feeling that he didn't want to find out.

Ron settled on the sofa, resigned to the fact that it was going to be a long night waiting for Hermione to show up.

Jim woke up a little while later. They took turns in the shower and Jim gave Ron clothes that smelled musty and looked worn. Jim explained that they were old clothes left at the cabin by him and his brothers to wear when they went fishing. Ron gladly accepted the jeans and sweatshirt; they were better than wearing a shirt with a bullet hole and stained with his and Harry's blood.

Jim suggested that they play cards. Ron didn't know many Muggle games, except for poker, which Dean and Seamus had taught him years ago in their dorm. The played for hours, pausing once when Harry came out of the bedroom, wearing a deep red dressing gown that Ron assumed Dobby had transfigured or brought with him. Harry barely looked at Ron and Jim as he shuffled into the loo with Dobby at his heals. Dobby stood guard outside the door after Harry issued a warning not to follow him inside. When Harry finished, he grunted a greeting and sulked back into the bedroom.

"He looks better," Jim said.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled and shuffled the cards.

When they got bored of poker, they moved to the sofa to watch the telly. It all helped to pass the time, though it never took Ron's mind completely off waiting for Hermione. Ron frequently checked the clock and performed the calculations silently to countdown to a possible time of her arrival. His traitorous mind kept wandering back to his early conversation with Harry, balling up Ron's stomach into nauseating knots.

Soon after the birds had started chirping and Ron could seen the hue of the sunrise out the window, there was a knock at the door. He jumped out of his seat and rushed to the door.

Jim stopped him before opening it. "Check first," he said and pointed to the window.

Ron peeked out of the blinds covering the glass and saw Hermione standing at the door wrapped up tightly in her winter cloak.

"It's her," he said and opened the door.

Hermione flung herself in his arms before he could speak.

"Ron," she whispered in his ear, "I missed you so much."

She sounded close to crying. Ron pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were puffy and the lids trimmed in red, indicting that she'd already been crying.

"Hermione, what's wrong? Fuck, did they not believe you? Are we still not safe?"

"No – no. We're safe. We're all safe," she said, shaking her head. Jim caught her eye and she smiled. "Is this Jim?"

Jim and Ron nodded. Jim held out his hand and she clasped it between both of hers. "Thank you. Thank you so much for all you've done for us," she said, her voice solemn, but grateful.

"It wasn't a problem," Jim said humbly.

"No, it was! You risked getting in loads of trouble with the Muggles. I don't know if Ron told you, but I'm Muggle-born."

"He did," Jim said. "I should be going. You can get home yourselves, right? I don't want to intrude."

Ron felt a sudden surge of panic. He didn't know why, but he didn't want Jim to leave. "No," he said. "You – stay."

"Yes, Jim, please stay," Hermione said. "We need your help. I'd…" She looked at Ron. The look gave Ron the same feeling of dread he got when he talked to Harry. "I'd rather we speak with Harry first and then we'll need you to help the American law enforcement sort things out with the Muggles."

"Sure," Jim said.

"Where is he?" Hermione asked.

Ron grabbed her arm. "Hermione, what is it? What's wrong?"

"He hasn't told you anything?"

"No," Ron said. "He just said that he wasn't going home. Then Dobby showed up and went mental and wouldn't let me talk to Harry anymore."

Hermione frowned. "He should be feeling better by now."

"He's in the bedroom," Ron said and started to walk towards the door.

Hermione caught up to him and gripped his wrist. "Ron, please be patient with him. You… you mean so much to him. He must be terrified of telling you and –"

"And what Hermione? Just tell me, Hermione. Tell me what the big secret is!"

"I know it's difficult for you, Ron," she said with a touch of sarcasm. "But please try to curb your anger. Let him tell you on his own time."

The door to the bedroom opened and Ron and Hermione looked over at Harry standing in the doorway.

Harry smiled weakly. "Hi, Hermione."

She approached him cautiously until he opened his arms and she threw herself into them. Neither of them said anything and Harry looked intensely at Ron over her shoulder.

"You know the truth?" Harry asked as she released him.

She nodded and wiped her eyes simultaneously with her index fingers.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Ron asked, crossing his arms firmly against his chest.

Harry gestured towards the bedroom. "Can we talk in here?"

They followed him into the bedroom. Ron looked back at Jim, who smiled before grabbing his coat. "I'm going to take a walk and watch the sunrise," he said and left the cabin.

It took a solid five minutes for them to persuade Dobby to leave. Ron's patience had worn down to nothing. He leaned against the wall, his arms shoved in the pockets of his borrowed jeans, sulking and trying to keep his temper in check.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said as soon as Dobby had finally Disapparated.

"What are you sorry for?" Ron asked. "Dobby's the nutter."

Hermione and Harry exchanged a knowing glance and Ron felt even more disconnected from Harry.

"How's the arm, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry whirled his arm around in a circle. "It's perfect. Like it never happened."

"That's good, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry nodded distractedly as he wandered over to a window and gazed out it. "I suppose they want you and Ron to bring me back so they can send me to Azkaban."

"No," Hermione said softly. "They don't, Harry."

"_Azkaban_?" Ron looked back and forth between them. "Hermione, tell me what the fuck is going on! You said that we're safe."

Hermione sat on the bed and looked at her hands that she wrung together nervously. After a few moments, she looked at Harry, who continued to glare out the window. She turned to Ron and started to speak, using her very professional and unemotional voice. "The Supreme Mugwump and the Wizengamot listened to all of our testimony. They gave Scrimgeour a chance to tell his side of the story and he placed all the blame on Harry and you, Ron. But the Americans were very convincing and the Senator had all sorts of evidence that was compelling enough for the court to take drastic means to get to the truth. The Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump, deciding that international relations were severely threatened and more lives could be lost, ordered the use of Veritaserum."

Harry, who'd remained impassive as Hermione spoke, flinched.

Silence fell over the room. Hermione looked at Harry as if she wanted him to pick up where she left off.

Ron held his breath, waiting.

"I was a fool," Harry said at last. He crossed his arms over his waist and looked down at the floor. "Scrimgeour set me up."

"He admitted to all of it, Harry," Hermione said. "Under the influence of the Veritaserum, he had no choice."

"Admitted to what?" Ron stepped into the middle of the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Will someone tell me what _everyone_ but me knows?"

Harry inhaled deeply and looked directly at Ron. "I killed the Syrian President."

Harry's confession knocked the breath right out of Ron. Ron gaped at him, not knowing how to respond. He looked at Hermione, hoping she'd say that it wasn't true, but she nodded and gasped a sob.

"Scrimgeour ordered me – well, no…" Harry's brow furrowed. "He asked me to, really. He tricked me into _wanting_ to. He told me that the Syrian President was the Muggle equal to Voldemort. I researched how he treated his own people. He wasn't a President. He was a dictator."

Speechless, Ron just stared at Harry, who seemed to have lost his nerve under Ron's scrutiny and returned to looking out the window.

"The massacre of the wizarding community was horrible," Harry continued. "I met with the survivors. There was this little boy that'd lost his parents and his sister…"

"I know, Harry. It was just dreadful," Hermione interjected.

"I used the Invisibility Cloak and snuck into a meeting with top officials of the Syrian government. The President talked about searching for and killing more wizards and witches and alerting other governments to do the same. He said he had a contact in the magical world that would help him. The others tried to talk him out of it. They thought they could approach the magical community and make peace with us, but the President ordered them to do it." Harry paused and ran his hands through his hair. "And I knew what I had to do. I Apparated to his bedroom that night and used the killing curse to murder him."

Ron finally found his voice. "Of course, you did, Harry! You didn't do anything wrong! You were just trying to protect people. That's what we promised to do when we became Aurors."

"Don't you see, Ron," Harry said, turning to look at him. "It was all lies. The whole meeting was planned out. The only ones not in on it were me and the President. Those wizards and witches were killed to make me want to kill the President. I was a bloody fool!"

"Harry," Ron said tenderly, "you couldn't have known. You did what you thought was right."

"I should've known!" Harry shouted, poking his chest angrily. "I knew Scrimgeour was a bastard. I rushed into it without thinking. I was angry and I wanted revenge for that little boy and –"

"Ron's right," Hermione interrupted. "You couldn't have known. Don't blame yourself. The Wizengamot has exonerated you of everything. They said that you were acting on the orders of your superior. No one thinks you're guilty, Harry."

Harry stared blankly at Hermione. "That doesn't change what I did, Hermione. I killed someone so Scrimgeour could profit from it."

"I would've done the same thing, mate," Ron said. He never wanted more than to wrap his arms around Harry and protect him from the rest of the world. He wanted to kill Scrimgeour with his bare hands for using Harry like that.

"It's my fault Percy's dead," Harry said.

"No. No, it's not," Hermione said and she began to cry. "Percy got involved because he knew that it was wrong."

Ron sat down on the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. "What did Percy do, Hermione?"

"He overheard…" She paused and took a deep breath. "He overheard Scrimgeour talking with a Muggle politician about the assassination. Scrimgeour said that he would help them assassinate more if they gave him more money."

"Then he came to me," Harry said. "He found out that Scrimgeour had told the Syrian President himself where the wizarding community lived. That's when I knew that I'd been tricked. He helped me gather evidence to confront Scrimgeour with."

"And did you?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded. "Scrimgeour said that for every bit of proof I had, he had proof that it was me and my idea all along."

"That was his back-up plan if they were caught," Hermione interjected. "He made sure that it looked like it'd been your idea and he was the one afraid of you and your powers.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He said that the Muggles would back up his story and who'd believe me over respected officials. And he was right."

"No, he wasn't," Ron insisted. "People would've believed _you_. You're Harry Potter!"

"Really, Ron? Do you honestly believe that people would've believed me? Everyone had been waiting for years for me to go mad or show my evil side."

Ron bowed his head. It was true. The average witch and wizard had always been a bit frightened of Harry and his powers, so as soon as Harry went missing, the majority of them had easily believed that Harry was a dark wizard.

"He threatened you and Hermione," Harry continued. "He said if I didn't do what he wanted and killed all of the Muggles he ordered me to, that he'd hurt both of you. He said it'd be easy for Hermione to contract an incurable terminal illness in her line of work and you… he said… he said you'd die in the line of duty, Ron." Harry's voice cracked and he reached for the water, taking a long sip. "I knew that I had to go away. Percy – that stubborn bastard – begged me to stay and fight the Minister. He was a git sometimes, but he was honest. He approached the Minister with his evidence and said that he'd stand by me and tell everyone the truth. After Scrimgeour had him murdered, I knew for sure I had to go away and hoped that he'd leave you both alone… that's when I can't remember anything else."

"Scrimgeour said that he didn't kill us because he thought if you came back for anyone, it'd be us," Hermione said and squeezed Ron's hand that she'd clutched while Harry talked about Percy. "He hoped that you'd come back and he'd kill you so you couldn't talk. If we were dead, you'd have nothing to come back for."

"He was right," Harry said softly and all of Ron's suppressed feelings exploded.

"Why didn't you come to us?" Ron shouted, standing up and approaching Harry. "Why didn't you ask us for help? We would've worked this out together!"

"It wasn't your problem, Ron," Harry said, glaring boldly at Ron.

Ron hadn't expected Harry's indignant reaction and he floundered for a moment, before the meaning behind Harry's words struck him and he started to shout. "Wasn't our problem? Wasn't our problem?!" Ron looked at Hermione for support, but she only starred at Harry sympathetically. "It was certainly our fucking problem! He wanted to kill us!"

"And that was _my_ fault!" Harry yelled.

"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said getting into the argument. "Scrimgeour used you."

"It was my fault! Me and my fucking hero complex!" Harry slammed his fists against the wall, rattling the picture above the bed. "I wanted to do something… something _good_. I hated being an Auror and working for the Ministry and all of their bureaucratic nonsense. Voldemort died and nothing changed. Nothing! My parents were still dead. Sirius and Dumbledore were still dead. I was alone and –"

"You weren't alone," Ron said. His hurt shrouded itself in anger, which growled and exposed its sharp fangs. "You had us, but I reckon that didn't mean much to you, seeing how you kept us in the dark and went off on your own! That was _your choice_ to be alone, Harry!"

"You don't understand," Harry said, exasperated.

"No!" Ron spun on his heels and stalked towards the door. "You don't understand, Harry. You don't understand a fucking thing!"

He slammed the door and stood on the other side panting with anger and frustration. Harry'd just told him that he hated his life… his life with Ron. Ron had believed that they were happy, working together side-by-side and living in the house they'd built into a warm, comfortable home. The truth that Harry hated it all crushed Ron's chest and he found it difficult to breathe. He lowered his head, putting his hands on his knees and took deep breaths. He'd prepared himself to leave Harry behind as his lover, but he never expected to have to give up everything between Harry and him.

The door opened behind him and he jumped forward. Hermione closed the door and glared at him. "How could you, Ron?"

"How could I what?"

"He's confused. He needs your forgiveness and support most of all and you shouted at him."

"He doesn't need anything from me!"

"He does! It's going to be difficult for him when he gets home and he's going to need you."

"Hermione, just leave it."

"But, Ron –"

"Leave it!" Ron shoved his trembling hands into his pocket. "You said you needed Jim's help with the Muggles. I reckon you told the Ministers about what went on here."

"Yes," she said, still glaring angrily at him.

"And the American Ministry didn't order his memory removed?"

"No, they said he could help with the clean-up at the hospital and to find the squib who tried to kill the three of you."

"Good. Take Harry home now. I'm going to go back to New Hope with Jim."

"No, I can't take Harry home without you."

"Why not? Is there something else you or him haven't told me?" Ron asked irritably.

"Ron, don't be angry with me! I didn't know until this morning either."

"You suspected though," Ron said, glaring at her accusingly.

"I did… but –"

"I knew it!"

"But I didn't want it to be true! So I didn't say anything. I didn't want to upset you."

Ron shook his head slowly in disbelief that she'd thought keeping this from him was in his best interest. "Take him home." He grabbed his coat off a hook by the door and put it on. "I left things back in New Hope. I need to get them."

"Ron, please!" Hermione called out after him, but Ron'd already closed the door and went searching for Jim.

**TBC**


	19. A New Normal

**A New Normal**

Ron stood outside the house clueless as to where Jim might have gone. He shivered as the wind whipped across his face and stabbed at his cheeks like tiny needles. He rubbed them hard as he walked around the house looking for Jim.

In the right corner of the garden, Ron found a narrow trail between the trees and followed it. He faltered once, pausing and wondering if he should turn around and go back to Harry, but he pushed himself forward, certain that he had every right to be angry.

Just as he saw the end of the path, the mobile in his pocket rang and vibrated at the same time, startling him. He'd forgotten all about it.

"Hello, Hermione," he said coolly.

"Ron, I do wish you'd reconsider and come home with us now."

"I told you – there are things back in New Hope that I need."

"What is so important that Jim can't send it through the post?"

"Harry's Invisibility Cloak. The Portkey pen."

"Oh… yes. Well, it really isn't a good idea to trust Muggles with that."

"No, it's not."

She sighed. "Well, since you're staying, please tell Jim that the Magical Law Enforcement Squad will be at his home tomorrow morning at nine."

"Okay."

"Will you be home today?"

"Yes."

"Ron, please be sure to apologise to Harry as soon as you get home."

"Me?" Ron shouted. "You want _me_ to apologize? He's the one that should be apologizing."

"He didn't intend for us to be in danger! How can you be angry with him for Scrimgeour using us to get to him?"

"You, Hermione, have missed the bloody point – again!"

He smashed the off button with his index finger three times, each time harder than the last. Finally he stuffed it into his pocket before striding down the path, muttering about always being misunderstood.

At the end of the path, the ground beneath him changed from gritty stone to a fine sand. Jim sat directly ahead of him on a wooden beach chair, staring out at a lake.  
Without a word, Ron sat in the empty chair next to him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of their eyes fixed on the water gently lapping at the shore. There was a long pier a few feet away and Ron wondered if this was where Jim and his family went fishing.

"I thought you'd be getting ready to go home," Jim said.

"Hermione and Harry are leaving. I wanted to get some things that I left at my - Mike's house. If you don't mind driving me?"

"Sure, Ron. Did they leave already?"

"I think so," Ron said, toeing a rock that peeked out from the sand.

"Oh, I wanted to say good-bye."

Ron shrugged. "What difference does it make? He doesn't know who you are."

"Makes a difference to me," Jim said.

Again, Ron shrugged.

Jim smacked his thighs before standing. "Well, now that my balls have frozen off, I'd like to get back inside before my dick follows."

Ron followed and they went back to the empty cabin. The bedroom Harry had occupied looked as if he'd never been there at all.

Jim found a note written in Hermione's handwriting on the coffee table and handed it to Ron.

_Ron,_

_Please come home soon._

_Love,_

_Harry and Hermione_

Frowning, Ron crumpled it up and shoved it in his pocket. There wasn't much for them to do, except tidy up a bit, and they were soon in the car and back out on the road.

Ron stared out the side window, watching the winter barren trees and bushes zoom past. His mind replayed every memory he could conjure involving Harry from after the war and before he'd left them, looking for the times when he could've been a better friend and made Harry happier.

"I, uh, I might be a bit hypocritical asking this, since I really don't like people prying into my personal business…" Jim said. "But you look like you need someone to talk to. Did you tell Harry about the two of you and he – he didn't react the way that you'd hoped?"

Ron shook his head. "No. I didn't tell him."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Dunno."

"If you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

"Remember what you said when we first met – that you thought Harry must've been unhappy if he wanted to forget his life?"

"Oh, listen, Ron, I was just projecting my own history a bit there. It's tough being in the closet and I just thought that Harry might've been having a hard time dealing with that. I'm sure that I was wrong."

"No. You were right. Dead right. He was miserable. _I_ made him miserable."

Jim looked doubtful. "He said that?"

"Yeah. He said that he hated his life."

"So he actually said that you made him miserable?"

"He didn't have to say it exactly, but that's what he meant."

Jim laughed and shook his head.

"You think it's funny, do you?"

"Yes. Very."

"You don't understand," Ron said and told Jim the whole story that had been revealed in the bedroom.

"Stop acting like such a jerkoff, Ron."

Ron scowled. "Excuse me?"

"I heard you on the phone with your friend and she might've missed the point, but I haven't." Jim paused, watching Ron critically out of the corner of his eye. "The point is that Harry's in love with you. No matter what he said or implied or whatever you imagined. He loves you."

"You're mad."

"He does, Ron. I saw the way he looked at you."

"He didn't know who I was… he didn't know who he was… he was out of his bleedin' mind!"

"Maybe, but somehow he still connected with you. He let you get close. He was letting you in."

"We spent every day together. We worked together – lived together and he never told me that he hated his life. He never told me that he was unhappy," Ron argued. "He left without saying good-bye. He could've asked me for help! I would've –"

"Died for him," Jim cut in.

"Yes," Ron said without hesitation.

"And he didn't give you the chance. He tried to protect you because losing _you_ forever was worse than running away." Jim shook his head. "Horrible. Real bastard. I can see why you're so angry."

Ron snorted at Jim's sarcasm. "If he does— did fancy me, then what stopped him from telling me before? He had only – I dunno - _fourteen_ years to work up the courage! And it's not like we didn't spend every moment together. It wouldn't have been any great effort to just turn to me at breakfast and say, _'Oy, mate, I fancy you. Let's get naked!'_"

Jim laughed. "Yeah, all right. But… why didn't _you_ tell him?"

"I didn't know that I fancied him," Ron said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, you did," Jim said firmly.

"I didn't! I mean I… I knew, but it was… complicated… and I didn't think he'd fancy me… and – it was _complicated_!"

"You figured what's the sense in wishing for something that's not gonna happen?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, it did happen! For Christ's sake, Ron! You followed him across an ocean and you're going to give up this easily. If that's the case, than you're not half the man I thought you were."

"You – you – you," Ron sputtered, very flustered, his face radiating heat from both irritation and embarrassment.

Unable to come back with any retort that didn't make him sound more pathetic than he already felt, Ron simply crossed his arms and glared out the windscreen, remaining speechless for the entire trip back to New Hope.

Jim drove the car into the car park and shut off the engine. Some of Ron's transference of his anger onto Jim had depleted during the drive and he sat there not knowing what to say. He owed Jim more than words could express. Jim had taken care of Harry when Ron wasn't there, he had stuck his neck out for them, and Ron was leaving Jim with memories that he held dear and couldn't share with anyone else.

"Shawn'll miss you," Jim said.

"I'll miss him too," Ron said with complete sincerity. "He's a bloody good bloke."

Jim took his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a small white rectangle card. He grabbed a pen from the compartment under the centre arm rest and wrote something on the back and held it off for Ron. "My home phone number is on the back. I hope you'll keep in touch."

Ron took the card and nodded. "I, uh, I don't know if Hermione's taking my mobile back," he said as he pulled it out from his pocket. He showed Jim the back where Hermione had written the number.

"Wizards don't use phones?" Jim asked as he wrote the number down.

"Nah. We use fire and owls."

Laughing, Jim shook his head. "Ron, it's been interesting to say the least."

"Do me a favour? I'm hoping Ginger has come back, but if she hasn't - will you ask Marty to look for her?"

"Yeah, sure. And tell Harry that I said good-bye and if he ever remembers, tell him to keep in touch too."

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Er… for everything."

He opened the door and put one foot on the ground when Jim clapped him on the shoulder.

"This may be too much information, but I know how territorial men can be and since Harry can't tell you himself, well, when Harry and me were together, we – he – he always topped. I tried to get him to feel comfortable enough to… but he absolutely refused."

Ron just blinked at Jim. It took a moment to realise what he meant, but when he did, his eyes widened and he promptly lowered them, feeling awkward. He knew that anything he said would sound insincere. He didn't want to think about Jim and Harry together, but had to admit that he was exceedingly pleased over this fact.

"Too much information. Sorry," Jim said and squeezed Ron's shoulder. "Think about what I said."

Ron nodded, knowing that it'd be all he could think about.

* * *

Ginger hadn't returned. Ron put a bowl of her favourite canned food, a foul smelling salmon, outside the front door hoping to lure her home.

He checked out the window periodically to see if she was there as he packed his belongings and cleaned the house, trying to leave it in the pristine condition that he had found it.

When he left for Harry's house to gather Harry's things, she'd still not returned. He left his suitcase outside Harry's door and walked around the property calling her name, giving up reluctantly when the mobile in his pocket started ringing. He didn't answer it, knowing that it was Hermione telling him to come home.

Ron went through Harry's drawers, throwing out the dodgy magazines and condoms and keeping only the clothes and the lube, which he figured, at the very least, he could use for a good wank.

In the last drawer that Ron looked, under a pile of t-shirts, Ron found a picture of the two of them from Thanksgiving. Ron knew that Andy must've given it to him. It was a candid shot, neither of them looking at the camera. Ron's mouth was half-open, caught in mid-word. Harry was looking at him and Ron remembered Jim's words - _'I saw the way he looked at you.'_

Walking to the rubbish bin, Ron resigned himself to let this Harry go. He held the picture over the bin, but found that he couldn't release it from his fingers. He carefully slipped it into his pocket, deciding keeping a small memento couldn't hurt.

He pulled the Portkey out of his pocket, griped the suitcase handle tightly, closed his eyes, and clicked the top.

The stomach-churning journey ended with a thud and Ron's arse on the carpet in their sitting room. Ron stood and brushed himself off. He didn't hear any sound in the house and he called out for Hermione.

"In here!" she replied.

Ron followed her voice into the kitchen where he found her alone, sipping a cup of tea and reading the _Evening Prophet_. The front page had a picture of Scrimgeour, trying to look refined, being led through the Ministry surrounded by Aurors.

"Where's Harry?"

"I rang you," she said flatly.

"I didn't hear it. Where's Harry?"

"He's sleeping."

"Oh," he said and shoved his hands in his pocket. "I'm a bit knackered myself. I should –"

"Go to see your parents. They're worried sick. You can tell them that Harry's home. Then come back here and rest. I have to take you and Harry to the Ministry first thing in the morning to give your statements."

"Yeah. I reckon Mum will go spare if I don't visit her today," Ron said. He knew that Hermione was angry with him and doing what she asked would hopefully keep some semblance of peace in the house.

His mum smothered him with hugs, kisses, and food. He told his parents mostly everything, leaving out anything about his physical relationship with Harry. They gasped and listened intently as he replayed the night that Harry was shot. His father agreed that Jim was a good man and asked a lot of questions about the Muggles and their technology, earning a scathing look from Ron's mum.

When he returned home, well after dark, Hermione had gone to bed. He passed Harry's room and paused, listening at the door. He heard the wireless playing quietly and knew that Harry was awake. He wondered for a second if he should try to work things out tonight, but after a wide yawn, he went to his room instead.

He undressed certain that he'd be unable to sleep with all of the worried thoughts running through his mind. But as soon as his head hit the pillow and he pulled his favourite blanket over him, he plunged into a deep sleep.

Hermione banged on his door and shouted at Ron to get out of bed and get dressed. From her infuriated tone, he guessed that it wasn't the first time she had knocked.

He dressed quickly and found Hermione and Harry waiting for him in the kitchen. Harry glanced up and met Ron's eyes for only a brief second before he went back to staring into his coffee mug and petting Hedwig, who was perched next to him.

Harry's nimble slender fingers wove in and out of her snowy feathers. Ron stared hypnotised, remembering, with a shiver up his spine, what that felt like when Harry did that to his own fiery mane.

He was only vaguely aware of Hermione saying his name, until she snapped at him. "Ron! Please pay attention!"

"S'ry," he mumbled and tore his eyes away from Harry's hand.

"There's no time for you to eat," she said as she inspected his robes. Shaking her head, she flicked her wand at him and his robes unwrinkled. She flicked again at his shoes and he looked down to see them shining brightly. "We only have three minutes to get to the Ministry on time."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Ron said irritably.

She ignored him. "They'll interview you both separately. Harry," she said, grabbing Harry by the elbow and nudging him to stand up, "be as honest as you can. I've already explained to them what a fugue state is. So they know that you can't remember anything from January until a few days ago."

As they walked by him, Hermione reached out and seized his wrist, pulling him into the sitting room. "Ron, keep your details about America to a minimum. Tell them only the basics, except for what you know about the squib."

His head spinning from Hermione's prattling, Ron stood to the side and let Harry go first, then Hermione, who continued giving him instructions as the green flames engulfed her. Her voice lingered for a second even after she disappeared and it was the first thing Ron heard when he landed on his feet in the Atrium at the Ministry.

"Don't be nervous," she said, brushing soot off Harry's robe.

"I'm not, Hermione," Harry said bitingly. "Blimey, you'd think I was never interrogated before. I think they renamed one of the courtrooms in my honour."

Ron snickered and stepped back away from Hermione's hand and wiped his own robes clean.

"If you had been listening to me, you'd know that they want to keep this very informal and we're going to the Auror offices and not a courtroom," she said and stalked off. They caught up with her as she registered her wand.

His dad, Tonks, and Lupin met them as they exited the lift on Level Two. All three gave Harry hearty hugs. Harry returned them, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. They walked with them to the offices where Harry and Ron once worked happily – or so Ron had thought – side-by-side. They were both quickly whisked away to separate integration rooms, just as Hermione had said.

Ron tried to catch Harry's eyes before he disappeared into the room, but Harry kept them fixed ahead of him.

According to Ron's watch, his interview lasted ten minutes shy of three hours. When he exited, emotionally drained and hungry, Hermione and his dad were there waiting for him.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Ron said and ran his fingers through his hair. "Is Harry still in there?"

She nodded. "I expect he'll be in there for a lot longer."

His dad stood, sliced his chair in half, and transfigured both pieces into two individual chairs.

Ron took one and sat down.

"You don't think they'll break their word and arrest him, do you?" Ron asked.

"No," Hermione responded. "With all the bad publicity Scrimgeour's brought to the Ministry, I wouldn't be surprised if they offered him the Minister's job."

Ron laughed.

"They offered the position to me," Arthur said matter-of-factly.

Shocked, Ron turned and looked at him. "Really?"

Arthur nodded.

"Oh, Mr Weasley, that's wonderful!"

"Yes - yes, it was. I reckon they wanted someone with a less, uh, menacing personality. Putting a friendly face on the Ministry they said." He chuckled and shook his head. "I turned them down, of course."

"What?" Ron asked. "You turned them – _what_?!"

"Why? You could do so much good," Hermione said.

His dad shook his head. "Politics are so complicated. All of that power… it changes people. Scrimgeour… he… well, I've known the man for years. He was a good man once."

Ron shook his head violently. "No, Dad. I don't believe that. You could never –"

"That's why I turned it down, son," he said with a smile and patted Ron's knee.

"Oh, but, Mr Weasley, that's why you should take the job! Because you won't let it change you."

"Thank you, Hermione. I really appreciate your faith in me. But I'd rather like to enjoy my growing family. A job like that eats up loads of time and the older that I get, the more I discover how precious it is." He looked at his watch. "Speaking of time, I've got to get back to work."

With a new found respect for his dad, Ron watched him walk away and scratched the stubble on his chin.

"Ron, did they invite you back as an Auror?" Hermione asked.

"Yep. Or I could go back to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, whichever I want."

"Are you going to?"

"Dunno. I asked for a few days to think about it."

"That's a good idea," she said, nodding. "Ron, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in America with Harry."

Ron's heart skipped a beat. "What about it?"

"Don't tell him anything about it, even if he asks. You know he's going to be insistent about knowing, but do not tell him."

"Okay," Ron said, at first Ron feeling relief. He had been ordered not to say anything; the choice had been made for him and a weight lifted off his shoulders. But after a few moments, it just made him feel alone. "Why?" he asked, part of him now wanting the option back.

"I talked to a Muggle Psychiatrist, who's a friend of my parents. She said that it could harm his therapy."

"His bloody what?"

"Therapy," Hermione said with conviction. "She's agreed to take Harry on as a patient. He starts tomorrow and will go everyday for a couple of weeks at first and then once a week until –"

"Why does he have to do that?"

"His depression hasn't ended because he spent a few months on holiday in America," she said sarcastically.

"Depression? Hermione, that's a bit dramatic even for you. It's over. Scrimgeour admitted that he used Harry. You said that they didn't blame Harry for any of it!"

She shook her head, looking at him sympathetically. He rolled his eyes at her, tired of her pitying his so-called lack of emotional awareness.

"Did you ever wonder why Harry let himself be so easily led by Scrimgeour?" Ron opened his mouth, but she continued. "Because he wanted to. Harry doesn't do anything that he doesn't want to."

Ron nodded; he had to agree with that.

"I blame myself, really," she said sadly. "I noticed that he was slightly depressed. I talked to him about it and I just thought it would pass."

"You talked to him? Why didn't you… did he say why he was…?"

"It's complicated, Ron. It wasn't just _one_ thing. He's always had abandonment issues and, though we were all together, it just isn't the same as having a family."

"What are you going on about?" Ron asked, growing frustrated. He just wanted to know what was wrong with Harry so he could fix it.

"You have a family, Ron. No matter happens you'll always have your family to fall back on."

"Harry has us!"

"Well, yes. Now. But eventually we'll go on and start our own families. I'm positive that Harry was afraid that we'd leave him behind."

Ron narrowed his eyes and looked at her. "Why do you think Harry wouldn't go on and start his own family?"

"I didn't… I-I…" she stammered, cheeks reddening. "I didn't say that he wouldn't. I just think that…"

"You know!" Ron said, not saying exactly what he thought she knew, just in case she didn't.

Hermione looked at him and he knew her well enough to know by the expression on her face that she did know. "While you where in America… well, did Harry act sort of… did he act –"

"Gay," Ron said, holding back a laugh.

"Yes." She sighed, sounding relieved. "I wasn't sure and you hadn't said anything. Harry made me promise not to tell you."

"I can't believe you didn't," Ron grumbled.

"That would've been a breach of trust, Ron." She gave him a hesitant smile. "You don't have any issues with it – do you?"

Ron laughed, hard and long, until Hermione started to look at him like she wondered if he needed therapy too.

"I'll take that as a no," she said. "He was so worried how you'd react."

Ron looked at her, offended, and shook his head sadly.

"I told him, Ron," she said, putting her hand on his forearm. "I told him that it wouldn't matter. Your friendship means so much to him. He wasn't thinking straight."

Though he felt miserable and more distant from Harry than ever, he sniggered at Hermione's unintended pun.

Hermione realised what she had said and giggled into her hand.

"I know you said not to tell him anything that happened while he was away, but if he's not going to tell me about this, maybe I ought to let him know that I know."

"Wait. See if he tells you," she said.

He was tired of all these secrets between them, but arguing with Hermione was pointless. He'd do what he wanted anyway.

"I thought that when we found Harry and brought him home, everything would go back to normal," Ron said, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, making tiny stars burst behind his eyelids.

"They weren't normal before," Hermione said, taking his hand and entwining her tiny fingers with his. "There's no such thing as normal for us."

Ron half-laughed and stretched his long legs out in front of him, trying not to wish that Harry had never got his memory back.

His dad showed up a short while later with a tray filled with sandwiches, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, and glasses.

"Harry must be starving too," Ron said.

"You're right," Arthur said. He filled a glass with pumpkin juice and grabbed three sandwiches.

When the door opened, Ron craned his neck to see inside, but couldn't see Harry. It would be another hour before the door opened and Harry walked out, looking obstinate, but Ron saw weariness in his eyes.

After Harry went to the loo, they took the lift to the Atrium. Hermione, who stood between them, seemed to know not to push Harry and remained silent.

As they stepped out of the lift, Ron heard a low rumbling. Harry and Hermione walked down the hall in front of him. When they reached the set of golden gates, Ron realised what the sound was and opened his mouth to warn them, but it was too late. The moment that Harry stepped through the arch and into the Atrium a mob of frenzied reporters surrounded him.

They knocked Hermione to the ground. Eric Munch, the watchwizard, got to her first. He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.

"I sent someone upstairs," Eric yelled to Ron over the commotion. "They just got here. I told them to leave, but more and more kept coming through the fireplaces."

Quickly scanning the mob, Ron spotted Harry shoving a tall wizard screaming intrusive questions at him in a thick French accent.

Ron grabbed the collars of two reporters, yanked them back, and pushed them to the side. He continued to toss reporters out of his way, shouting, "Magical Law Enforcement – out of my way!" When he reached Harry, he gripped his bicep, and Harry wheeled around looking furious and pointed his wand at Ron's chest. He lowered it when he realised that it was Ron.

"I'll get you out of here," Ron said and waved his wand it at the mass of reporters. "Back off! Or I'll turn you into flobberworms and stomp on each and every one of you!"

Being tall had its advantages. Ron was able to easily look over heads and see Hermione and Eric standing in front of a fireplace without a queue and waving frantically at him.

He put his arm around Harry and held him close to his side as they pushed their way to the fireplace. By the time they reached it, Ron heard Kingsley's booming voice shouting threats at the reporters. He turned and saw that Kingsley, Tonks, Susan Bones, and a few Aurors, who looked fresh out of training, stood in a row, creating a human wall between Harry and the reporters.

"Go, Harry," Hermione shouted, shoving Floo powder into his hand. She turned to Ron, smiling proudly. "Looks like you've made your decision already. You're really meant for it, Ron."

"Yeah, I reckon I have," he said, smiling. It did feel right. He liked being in a position of protecting people. It felt even better knowing that he'd made up his own mind and wasn't doing it just because Harry was.

Harry looked at Ron and smiled. "Thanks, mate. I was about to blast them through the wall."

Ron grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Not a good idea when you're trying to convince the world that you're not a maniac."

Harry laughed as he disappeared into the flames and just like that they were on speaking terms again.


	20. A New Betrayal

**A New Betrayal**

Darkness had become a comfort to Ron like one of his old t-shirts or the blanket from his room at the Burrow that he liked to curl up under when he was feeling ill.

At night in his room, Ron felt at peace, finally absent from having to watch Harry sulking around the house. Here, alone, he let his mind immerse in the memories of Harry and him and he even allowed himself to delve into fantasies that would bring Harry into his bedroom and back into his arms. It was so much easier than during the day when he had to spend every waking moment hiding his feelings and bolting from the room whenever Harry looked particularly broody and it hurt too much not to reach out and console him with physical affection.

In the morning, during that brief span of semi-awareness between being asleep and awake, he felt an arm around him, holding him tight, and for a single glorious second he experienced feeling loved again. Until he heard Harry or Hermione moving about the house and the phantom body lying next to him vanished, leaving a longing need in the centre of his chest that made it hard for him to breathe the rest of the day.

* * *

Ron walked out of Flourish & Blotts, shifting Hermione's Christmas gift under his arm. He'd been shopping at Diagon Alley buying Christmas gifts since after lunch until the sun had set, and the fairy lights shone on the random puddles of rain along the cobbled street. The weather matched his dreadful mood. He had decided to finish his Christmas shopping before going back to the Aurors in two days. He'd hoped that it would take his mind off Harry, but walking along the decorated shops only reminded him of New Hope. His bitter mood and depression weighed down on him until he felt like giving up and going back to the sanctity of his bedroom. He wondered how long he could stay there, not eating or showering, before Hermione would drag him off to St Mungo's.

His last stop before going home was Gringotts where he deposited, minus what he'd spent on gifts, all of the money that the Ministry had given him when he informed them that he'd be returning to the Aurors. The Ministry had been feeling generous and paid him for all his time off while he was in the United States, settled all of the debt on his faux Muggle credit card, and gave him the difference in pay that he would've been making if they hadn't demoted him to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. It was the largest sum of money he'd ever had at one time in his life.

He stepped out of Gringotts. As he opened his umbrella, he saw a reporter coming out of the _Daily Prophet_ office. He quickly lowered the umbrella to hide his face, but it was too late; he had been spotted.

"Mr Weasley!" the reporter yelled. Ron couldn't remember his name, but he recognised him as one of the reporters at the Ministry after their interviews.

Ron ignored him and walked faster down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Mr Weasley! Ron!" the young male reporter yelled as he got closer. "Mr Weasley, just a moment please. Are the rumours true that Harry Potter has left the Aurors and will be joining the Chudley Cannons as their primary Seeker?"

Ron spun around. "What? What did you say?"

The reporter wiped the rain drops from his eyes. "Is it true that Harry Potter has joined the Chudley Cannons?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"We received a tip," the reporter said smugly.

"Its rubbish," Ron mumbled, turned away, and hurried towards the inn.

Hermione sat on the sofa, her legs curled up under her, reading a book when Ron stepped out of the fireplace. She looked up and her welcoming smile dropped when she saw his face.

"What's wrong, Ron?"

"Is Harry home?"

"Yeah." Ron turned to see Harry walking into the room. "We were wondering where you were. Dinner's almost –"

"Is it true?" Ron asked, staring at Harry.

"Is what true?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked confused for a moment before his face filled with anger. "Who told you? I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"A reporter for the Prophet. So it's true, then?" Ron asked, dropping his packages on a chair.

Harry nodded with uncertainty.

Ron jumped in the air and let out a whoop. "Yes! Yes! Harry, that's the most brilliant thing I've heard in ages… in _forever_! The Cannons are going to win the cup and you're going to be the most brilliant Seeker the league has ever seen!"

"You're not angry that I didn't tell you? I only found out this morning. I never thought about the reporters finding out."

"Don't be daft, Harry. You're going to be a _Cannon_! How could I be angry?"

A huge grin spread over Harry's face and his eyes never left Ron's even when Hermione ran over to him, hugging him and kissing his cheek.

"Harry, that's wonderful," she said. "I thought Oliver said that the Quidditch teams were leery of you and all the bad publicity."

"The Cannons don't care," said Harry, laughing. "In fact they hope that my dodgy reputation will give them a menacing edge against their opponents."

Harry winked at Ron and it sent Ron's heart soaring towards the ceiling.

For the first time since they had returned home, Harry seemed happy. Harry and Ron chatted merrily over the dinner table, discussing Harry's practise schedule and his first game against the _Appleby Arrows_.

"I've got to practise a lot," Harry said. "I haven't been on a broom in ages."

"Oh, Harry, what about your sessions with Dr Merrick?" Hermione asked.

Harry's shoulders tensed and Ron shot her a spiteful look for bringing it up.

"This is more important," Harry said curtly.

"You can't stop going!" Hermione argued. "It's really important too!"

"I didn't say that I'm going to stop," Harry replied. "Dr Merrick agrees that I need to move on with my life back in the wizarding world and she thinks –"

A thought struck Ron and he interrupted Harry. "Wait. I thought you were going to a _Muggle_ doctor. How do you talk to her about being a wizard?"

"You just thought about that now?" Hermione asked.

"I've had other things on my mind, Hermione."

"Dr Merrick has a daughter who's a wizard," she explained. "She's in her second year at Hogwarts."

"That's a bit of a coincidence that a friend of your mum and dad also had a daughter who's a witch," Ron said.

"Oh, no. They weren't friends before that. They met Dr Merrick at the group mum and dad started to help Muggle parents of magical children to adjust."

"Your parents started a _what_?"

"It was difficult for them to relate to my studies at first. So they started a group for parents of magical children to help ease through the transition."

Ron and Harry shared a look and a smile, knowing they were both thinking the same thing - that the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.

"What about the family sessions with us?" Hermione waved her hand between her and Ron.

"What? The bloody what?" Ron looked at Harry for an explanation.

"It's a stupid idea," he grumbled and looked down at his plate away from Ron's eyes.

"Family sessions are quite common during therapy," Hermione said. "We'd go to therapy with Harry and –"

"What? Why do _I_ have to go to therapy?" Ron asked indignantly. "I'm not a nutter." He looked at Harry. "S'ry. No offence, mate."

Harry shrugged. "None taken."

"And since we're Harry's family," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron's comment, "Dr Merrick thinks that we should join him to talk about things together."

Ron gaped at her. "Harry and I… we're talking!"

"Oh, are you?" She looked at him scornfully. "Have you told Harry how it made you feel when he disappeared?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I told him that I thought he was wrong."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's not a _feeling_, Ron. It's an _opinion_."

"Fine," Ron said tersely. "Harry, I _feel_ that you were wrong for disappearing without telling us."

Harry chuckled and Hermione's eyes flashed fury.

"Honestly, Ron! Can't you be serious about anything? This isn't something to joke about."

"Hermione…" Harry said. He dropped his fork on the plate and it made a loud clanking noise. "I told you that I didn't think it was necessary either!"

"It most certainly is necessary," she said.

"I'm going back to work on Monday," Ron said. "I can't –"

"I'm certain Dr Merrick will work around both of your schedules," she said in a tone that told Ron the debate was over.

Harry stabbed at his food irritably, making Ron feel guilty for arguing. Maybe Harry wanted him to go to therapy. Ron pushed his plate away, his appetite gone.

"We have to celebrate Harry being signed to the Cannons," Hermione said cheerfully.

Both Harry and Ron shrugged.

"I'm sorry," she said, sighing. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Please, we were… it was nice talking and I... I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Ron was stunned that she had apologised. He knew it was often difficult for Hermione to connect with them. She didn't know anything about Quidditch, nor did she care to, and for years they had different careers. Harry and Ron had often spent hours talking about their day and never once asked her how hers was. And even though she was often misguided, she always had their best interest in her heart.

When Ron finally spoke, he kept his tone light and carefree, letting her know that he was willing to move on too. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a bottle of Firewhiskey that Fred and George brought over the other night when they visited," she said, smiling.

Harry looked up at Ron and they both nodded.

An hour later, Hermione was stretched out on the sofa, her head on Ron's lap and her feet on Harry's, telling them all of the gossip they had missed while they were gone.

"Neville and Susan!" Ron exclaimed and watched as she nodded. "When did that happen? I thought Susan was dating Anthony Goldstein."

"Nooooo… they've been over for ages!" Hermione lifted her head and took a sip of whiskey. "They were both in _Flourish & Blotts_ and Neville ran into her – _literally_." Hermione giggled into her hand. "You know Neville. He got flustered and Susan thought it was adorable."

"How about you, Hermione? Any blokes you fancy?" Ron asked.

"Not really." She avoided both of their eyes and a pink tint rose on her cheeks.

"You do!" Harry exclaimed, tickling her feet.

She squealed and kicked playfully at his hands. "If you most know, there is a very nice Healer visiting from Italy who asked me to dinner."

"Please don't tell me that you said no!" Ron said.

"I didn't say no. I said maybe."

"Maybe better mean yes," Harry said firmly. "You deserve a nice bloke." He looked at Ron with a mischievous smile. "After putting up with us."

"He is rather attractive. And he calls me _bella donna_. It means beautiful lady."

"Do it, Hermione," Harry said.

"I will. On Monday… if he asks again."

"No!" Ron said. "He asked you once. Don't make the poor bloke suffer and have to ask you again."

"Do you think it'd be okay?" They both shook their heads and she smiled. "I will. I promise."

"Who else has paired up since I was gone?" asked Ron.

"I'm still trying to process that Ginny and Wood are married – with a baby!" said Harry.

"I heard Lavender's getting married, Won-Won," Hermione said, poking Ron's stomach. "A Muggle."

Ron shook his head. "Poor bloke. If I were him, I'd get tested for love potions."

"And Seamus told me that the Patil twins are both engaged as well," Hermione said. "That's what happens at our age – people start getting married and having babies."

Hermione tensed up.

Harry frowned thoughtfully at his glass.

Reacting quickly, Ron changed the subject back to Quidditch. Harry's enthusiasm level had dipped low though and soon he stood up and announced that he was going to bed.

"Don't, Harry. Please stay," Hermione said.

"I'm knackered," he said.

Ron heard his footsteps on the stairs and his bedroom door close.

"I'm so stupid," Hermione said, sitting up. "I should've never said that."

"It's not your fault," Ron said. "We can't spend the rest of our lives watching what we say because it might make Harry go mental again."

Feeling more sober than he wanted to, Ron drained his glass and refilled it.

"I know," she said. "I just wish he'd talk to us more about how he was feeling."

Ron stared into his glass, the amber liquid gleaming from the firelight. "Why do you think he told you about being gay and not me?" he asked, being sure to keep his voice low so Harry wouldn't hear.

"He didn't want to tell me. It was right after he broke up with Ginny. I was pestering him because I thought he was just being a martyr and he blurted it out to get me to be quiet."

"Oh," he said and went back to staring into his glass. "Did he… do you know if he had a bloke or was interested in any particular bloke?"

"I don't know. I asked, but he told me to mind my own business."

Ron chuckled and shook his head.

"I have to admit, Ron," she said, snuggling up next to him and putting her head on his shoulder. "You're handling Harry's sexuality very well."

"Why are you surprised? I'm not as emotionally disabled as you think I am," Ron said irritably.

"I know you're not. I just thought you might've thought he fancied you and that'd change your friendship."

After a long silence, while Ron debated bringing up the subject at all, he gave in to his curiosity and asked, "Did he say that he fancied me?"

"No," she said, yawning. "Though I wondered… I mean you two are so close and he's different around you."

"Different?"

"More relaxed, I suppose. More like himself."

Something broke inside Ron and he felt as if he didn't talk about his feelings for Harry he'd explode. "Hermione, I've got something to…" His voice cracked slightly. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" Hermione said, putting her hand on his forearm.

"No. I'm really not."

Hermione looked up. "Oh, Ron, what's wrong?"

"When we were in together in New Hope and you know that I told you Harry was acting out his – his sexuality." Ron paused a moment to let his thoughts weighed down by the Firewhiskey reach his lips. "And I was there and he thought that I was a stranger and there were all these blokes and they were so open about being gay and…"

As he spoke, he felt a blush flooding his face and neck. Hermione had to see it too and her eyes widened as he stumbled over his confession.

"Are you saying…? Did you and Harry…?" Her hand flew to her mouth.

Ron nodded and relief filled him, a bit of the burden lifting now that he had shared it with someone who really knew them.

Looking quite dazed, she stood up and walked a few steps before stopping. He stared at her back, wishing he could see her face to know what she was thinking.

"I… I have to admit that I'm shocked," she said, her back still turned. "I didn't think that _you_ were interested in men."

"I never did anything – not until Harry. I mean I had thoughts, but I never really thought about it, you know."

She turned around to face him. "Are you in love with him?" Her eyes bore into him, warning him not to lie.

"Yeah," he admitted for the first time out loud.

Her face and eyes softened. "This must be horrible for you!"

He nodded. "It has been, Hermione. I think about it all the time. We were together and it was…" He stopped himself from saying _'the happiest he'd ever been.'_ He had been in a relationship with Hermione once and didn't want to hurt her feelings. "It was nice."

She shook her head. "You really shouldn't have done that when he was in that state that he was in."

"I couldn't help myself, Hermione. He wanted _me_. The way that he looked at me… and you know what it's like when Harry really wants something. I just couldn't fight it. It was still Harry."

"You have to tell him," she said quickly.

"What?" Ron stared at her in surprise. "But – but _you_ told me not to tell him anything."

Waving her hand dismissively in the air, she said, "Ignore that. I didn't have all of the information then. You have to tell him."

"What if he doesn't fancy me back?"

"It's not just that, Ron." She sat back down next to him. "He has to know what happened. You were intimate with him. He has a right to know that."

"I don't know," Ron said, closing his eyes and leaning his head to rest on the back of the sofa. "If he doesn't – and he knows – how could I ever…"

Somehow Hermione understood and she took his hands, entwining their fingers together. "I don't know for sure if he wants to have sex with you –"

Ron's eyes flew open. "Hermione," he whispered, embarrassed.

"But I do know that he loves you desperately and he'd die before he let you out of his life. So just talk to him."

* * *

The bedsprings creaked loudly as Ron flung himself from lying on his stomach to his back, sighing heavily. The alcohol had worn off and he couldn't sleep with Hermione's words ringing in his ear. He knew that she was right, and he knew that he wanted to tell Harry, but he couldn't figure out a way to actually do it.

After an hour or so, Ron gave up and decided to go downstairs and finish off the bottle of Firewhiskey that he'd left on the coffee table, but when he got down there it was gone. He and Hermione had gone upstairs together, so he knew she didn't put it away.

As he went to check the kitchen, he heard a cough in the study. He looked in and saw Harry sitting in one of the brown leather chairs with the bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand and a half-empty glass in the other.

"Hi," Ron said.

Harry looked up, smiled in greeting, and went back to staring at the massive map of the world hanging on the wall directly in front of him.

Ron sat down next to him and looked at the red pins marking all of the locations where Ron'd searched for Harry. White strips of paper with the date Ron'd been there hung like tiny flags on each pin.

"You couldn't sleep either?" Ron asked.

"Nope," Harry said and Ron thought he sounded slightly drunk.

The Firewhiskey bottle in his hand was fuller than the one Ron had left.

"Where'd you get the fresh bottle of whiskey?"

"I had it stashed in my bedroom."

"Gonna share?" Ron asked, holding out his glass.

Harry poured him a full glass and went back to looking at the map.

"I could tell you stories about some of the freaks I met while looking for you," Ron said, laughing. "See that one there." He pointed to a pin near Leeds. "That bloke was a real nutter. He had a tattoo of your scar put on his forehead. He looked a bit like you if you squinted real hard."

Harry looked at Ron, his forehead crinkled. "Why would he want to do that?"

"Helped him to pull birds, I reckon," Ron said light-heartedly, trying to lighten the densely serious mood in the room.

It worked; Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Did he get many birds pretending to be me?"

"Yeah, he did."

They sat in silence for awhile, both sipping their drinks. When their glasses were both empty, Harry refilled them.

"What were the blokes like that you found me with?" Harry asked.

"They were decent blokes."

"Jim – you two seemed to get on all right," Harry said, sounding bitter.

"He helped us a lot, Harry," Ron said, feeling protective of Jim. "You don't remember anything?"

Harry shook his head. "I've tried really hard to remember something, but it's just blank. There's nothing there." Harry lifted the glass to his lips, but paused. He looked at the map again, his eyes glazing over with something that Ron didn't recognise. "You started looking for me right away," he said.

"Of course, I did."

"I'm sorry that I left," Harry said softly.

"I would've fought against Scrimgeour with you."

"I know and that's why I left."

Ron twisted his torso to face him. "That's total bollocks, Harry."

"No, it's not," Harry said sharply. "I didn't want anything to happen to you. Why can't you understand that?"

"See you really aren't sorry at all! You just said it because your therapist probably told you to or some rubbish like that. Well, did you tell her how stubborn you are and how you think that you have to do everything alone?"

"Yes, I did!" Harry said, his voice dropping dangerously low and angry. "Because it's true though – isn't it?"

"It's not!" Ron snapped back. His own anger had taken control of his mouth. "I've always been there. Hermione's always been there. Right there with you and you're a selfish bastard for not appreciating it."

"I know you've been there with me, but in the end I've always had to go it alone though." Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry put up his hand. "And I know you wanted to be there with me and it's not your fault that it didn't work out that way, but it was me alone down in that dungeon with Quirrell, alone in the Chamber with Tom Riddle, alone in the graveyard, and –"

"Shut it, you daft git. Just because it worked out that way doesn't mean you have to force it to be that way." Ron gulped down the last of his drink. "Hermione and this therapist want me to tell you how I felt." He banged his chest and Harry flinched. "You left! You left _me_. I thought you were dead. I looked everywhere for you and I wouldn't stop and everyone thought that I was going mad."

Harry put on his best charming smile and laughed. "But how did it make you _feel_?"

"Don't cheek me, Harry." Ron narrowed his eyes and glared. "You left and didn't tell me - like I didn't matter! I felt betrayed! How the fuck did you think I felt?"

"I did tell you, but you –" Harry stopped suddenly, closed his mouth, and diverted his eyes to the floor.

Confused, Ron gaped at Harry, trying to figure out what Harry had meant. Harry hadn't told him. He would've remembered, unless… "You – you – you didn't?"

Harry nodded gloomily. "You came home before I left. You caught me in the kitchen with my things and I… I'm sorry Ron."

The nagging sensation he had often felt when he tried to remember the day that Harry had left made sense now. Ron stood and towered over Harry. "I want it back," he said through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"I want my memory back! It's mine and I want it!" Harry shrank back into the chair, looking horrified at the thought. Ron grabbed Harry's wrist and yanked him to his feet. "Now, Harry!"

"Now? How?" Harry asked as Ron pulled him through the house and up the stairs.

They reached Ron's bedroom and he wrenched Harry into it. After lighting the room, he slammed the door shut and stalked over to the wardrobe. As he rolled the Pensieve out, he watched Harry standing there, his arms wrapped around his waist, looking like a terrified animal unsure of what was about to happen to him.

"Put the memory in here," Ron said, gesturing impatiently at the Pensieve. "I want to see it."

Harry went pale and his eyes widened. "Ron, I can-can't."

"You can and you _will_."

_**TBC**_


	21. A New Love

**Chapter Twenty-One: A New Love**

"I already told you what hap–"

Ron reached forward, snatching the wand out of the waistband of Harry's shorts. He held it in his open palm and thrust it at Harry.

"Take it," he urged. "Harry, take it!"

There was a soft knock on the door and Hermione's voice followed. "Ron – Harry, is everything all right?"

"We're fine, Hermione," Ron said firmly. "Go back to sleep."

"You're not arguing are you?"

"Go back to bed, Hermione - _please_!" Ron shouted and waited until he heard the door to her bedroom close. "Have I ever asked you for anything?"

"What?" Harry asked, meeting Ron's eyes for the first time since they entered the room.

"Have I ever asked you for anything, Harry? _Ever_?"

Lowering his eyes to look at his bare feet, Harry shook his head.

Ron sighed, simply tired from it all. There was a kaleidoscope of memories floating around in his head, bumping into each other, but never bonding together to create a chain of events that would finally lead to an ending. It was like a book with blank pages scattered randomly throughout and he was sure that Harry held the missing scenes.

"Take the wand," he said, his tone less demanding this time and more pleading.

Looking at it as if it might bite, Harry took the wand and let his hand fall to his side, the wand pointing towards the ground.

"Your head," Ron said, poking the side of his own. "Your memories are in your head, not your feet."

"I know that!" Harry snapped back. Stepping forward, his face wearing a blank expression and his eyes fixed in front of him, he put the wand to his temple and extracted a wisp of a silver strand from his head. He placed it in the basin and stepped back.

Ron approached the Pensieve, sensing Harry's eyes boring into his back. He leaned his face forward toward the memory swirling around like a piece of a broken cloud, expecting Harry to attempt to stop him. He didn't and Ron fell through the chilly blackness, holding his breath, until he was standing in Harry's memory.

The sun had almost set in the grey winter sky visible through the large double glass doors leading to the garden. The growing darkness made it difficult to see in the room. Suddenly the fireplace and the oil lamps lit and light blazed through the room. Ron saw Harry standing in the doorway. He dropped his suitcase, threw his rucksack on the table, and began searching for something in a drawer, pulling out take-away menus and store receipts that should've been tossed in the rubbish bin long ago and throwing them on the counter in obvious frustration.

The frantic search ceased; Harry found what he was looking for. He smiled slightly as he held it in his hand.

Ron spun around, startled by a voice, and saw himself standing in the doorway, wearing his Auror robes.

_"Oy, mate."_

Harry jerked in surprise and dropped the item in his hand. It fluttered to the floor.

Ron stepped forward before Harry and picked it up. It was a newspaper clipping of a picture of Harry and him at the Quidditch World Cup in 2002 moments after England's Seeker had captured the Snitch. Caught up in the moment, Harry and Ron had excitedly embraced each other. The gesture had been captured by a reporter and the next day was included in a montage of images under the headline, 'Fans Celebrate England's Victory!'

_"Why were you looking for this?" Ron asked._

Harry's face turned pale. "No reason." He turned and began shoving everything back in the drawers.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied stiffly.

"No, you're not," Ron said, putting the photo on the table next to Harry's rucksack. Ron hesitated, staring at it for a moment. "What's going on, Harry?"

"Why'd you come home?" Harry asked irritably. He'd finished putting everything away and was now stuffing the picture into his rucksack. 

"You said that you were sick." Ron looked around the room. He froze when his eyes landed on the suitcase. "What's that?"

"What does it look? It's a suitcase."

"I know it's a suitcase! What's it doing here?"

Harry zipped up his rucksack. "I'm feeling much better, Ron. You can go back to work now."

Ron stepped closer and griped Harry's wrist. "Come off it, Harry. Something's going on."

"I need to go away for a while," Harry said quietly. "Don't ask any questions. It's just something I –"

"You what?" Ron let go of Harry and stepped back. "What do you mean - you're leaving?"

"I'll come back as soon as I can." Harry's lips quivered slightly. "I promise."

The scene suddenly ended and Ron felt himself soaring upward. Harry sat on the bed, his hands gripping his kneecaps.

"All of it, Harry," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That was all of it."

"I'll get Veritaserum from the Ministry and slip it to you when you least expect it – I swear, I bloody will!"

Harry studied his face for a moment, looking for signs that Ron was joking. Eventually he stood and put the remainder of the memory in the basin.

"Thank you," Ron said sarcastically and dove back into the Pensieve.

_Harry picked up the rucksack and Ron ripped it from his hands. "You're not going anywhere!"_

"Ron, don't…"

"Don't what? Have you finally gone mad, Potter?"

Harry reached for the bag, but Ron pulled it back and upwards out of his reach. "This isn't time for games! This is serious!"

"What's serious?"

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "There's a problem at the Ministry. It's too dangerous for me to stay here."

"Dangerous for who?"

"Me – you – Hermione… your family too, I reckon."

Ron's face filled with panic and he dropped the bag to his side. This time Harry didn't reach for it. "Why… fuck – what's going on?"

"I can't tell you." Ron opened his mouth, but Harry kept talking. "Trust me, Ron. Please, trust me. It's better if you don't know."

Too stunned to move, Ron let Harry take his bag out of his hand, but as Harry began to walk away, he snapped out of the daze. He reached out, grabbed Harry's shoulders, and spun him around.

"Whatever's going on – let me help you."

Harry looked at the floor and shook his head. "I can't let you. The Minster – other people they – they've done things that I know about and they'll stop at nothing to keep it a secret. I can't risk –"

"You're not leaving," Ron said firmly. "We'll fight them together. We've been together through worse. Hermione will help. We helped you defeat –"

"It's not the same thing." Harry stepped back away from Ron's hand. "This is worse than Voldemort."

"How can anything be worse than him?"

"If Voldemort walked into a room, everyone knew to raise their wands. Scrimgeour and his friends are powerful. People believe and trust them. They could…" Harry raised his eyes that were filled with panic. "They could kill any one of you and no one would believe me that it was them."

Ron's face was now as pale as Harry's. "What could you know that's so important for them to keep a secret?"

"I won't tell you," said Harry, shaking his head. "I have to protect you. I'll do whatever I have to do and if that means leaving…"

"I won't let you leave!" Ron said. He looked pale, panic-stricken.

"I'm going, Ron. There's nothing you can do to stop me."

Harry threw his rucksack on his shoulder and turned. His hand reached for his suitcase and Ron blurted out. "Let me go with you!"

"I can't ask you to do that," he whispered.

"You didn't ask. I offered. You're off your trolley, Harry, if you think I'm going to let you go this alone. I'll go with you and we'll figure out how to get you out of this mess - together."

Harry turned around. "You don't even know…" His face scrunched up and he took a long deep breath, steadying his emotions. "I can't let you leave your family."

"It won't be permanent, right? Just until we work it out." Ron walked forward and when he was within an arms reach of Harry, he grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. "I can't let you leave."

"Ron," Harry gasped softly.

Ron squeezed him harder. "I dunno what's going on, but I'm not letting you go."

"Ron…" It sounded like a painful moan. "Please, don't – don't do this if you don't mean it."

"Of course, I mean it, you daft git."

Harry pulled away. "If you come with me, I have to be honest." He looked soulfully at Ron. "I want you to mean it."

"I know we're blokes, Harry, and we don't do that sort of thing often, but you're my friend and –" Ron paused when Harry reached out and held his forearm gently. An intimate touch combined with the look in Harry's eyes, and even Ron, normally thick about anything that involved feelings, understood. "Oh…" He blushed a deep scarlet. "Are you saying you want…?"

Harry nodded. "For a long time. This is probably the worst possible time to mention it, but if you come along with me…"

Looking completely shocked, Ron stepped back, and broke their gaze and stared down at his feet. "You're saying you f-fancy me?"

Harry's hand fell to his side, his shoulders drooped, and the glimmer of hope in his eyes faded. 

Ron swore at himself. He wanted to run up and hit the memory of himself standing there looking appalled, while Harry looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't actually remember how he felt, but he knew in his heart that his reaction had been one of shock, not disgust.

_"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said dejectedly. "I shouldn't have… I understand. I'm going to go."_

"No!" Ron shouted. "Stay! Please we can…"

Harry pulled out his wand –

Ron yanked himself out of the memory, knowing that Harry was about to Obliviate him and he didn't want to see it.

The room was quiet and empty. Harry had left. He wasn't as surprised as he thought he should've been. Maybe deep down beneath all of his insecurities, he had known how Harry felt.

Ron put the Pensieve away and as he did, he saw the box of Harry's things that Dobby had brought from Hogwarts. He picked it up and went to Harry's room, entering without knocking. Harry sat in the middle of the bed, his legs bent to his chest, hugging his knees. He briefly glanced up at Ron before looking at his toes again, which he wiggled as if loosening up the muscles.

Ron placed the box on the floor next to a pile of clothes that needed laundering and got right to the point. "That was bloody unfair, Harry."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry responded coolly.

"Well, I do. That was unfair. You didn't give me a chance to –"

"To what, Ron? I saw how you looked at me. You were disgusted!"

"I was not disgusted."

Harry swung his legs around off the edge of the bed and glared at Ron. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Ron gritted his teeth. What right did Harry have to be angry with him? Harry was the one who had stolen his memory and ran away. "I was –"

"What were you, then?" Harry asked, standing up and stopping inches away from Ron.

"Shocked!"

"Right. Shocked that I was a bloody poof."

"No! I was shocked that you felt the same way that I did!"

Harry's eyes widened and his angry stance softened, though his eyes were still filled with doubt. He smirked. "You fancy yourself too, do you?"

The two of them did make some kind of pair, Ron thought. A pair of what, he didn't know. He chuckled and grabbed a fistful of Harry's t-shirt and pulled him flush against his chest until Harry's breath puffed against his chin. "No. I was shocked because I fancied _you_ and I thought that you could never fancy _me_."

"Really?" Harry asked, rising his eyes to meet Ron's.

Ron nodded as he leaned forward, his lips open, eager to feel Harry's between them. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head invitingly. Their noses touched and the image of their first kiss back in New Hope flashed in Ron's mind. "Bugger," he whispered and leaned his forehead against Harry's.

"If you're only doing this to make me feel better…"

"Shut it, Harry," Ron said and brushed a hand through Harry's hair. "That's not it. I have something that I have to tell you before we... we've done this before."

"Done what? Kissed?" Harry laughed as Ron nodded. "Really, Ron, this is no time to take the piss. I would've remembered if we… _oh_." The muscles in his face tightened. "I don't remember. I wanted – and waited – and we…" He pressed his fingers to his temples as if trying to pull out the memories.

Ron could feel Harry shaking under his hands and Ron's heart stopped. He never thought that he had done anything wrong, but now, a fear that Harry would feel that he took advantage of him coursed through him.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Ron said. Harry's face fell. "No, I mean, I wanted it to happen, but not like that. Not when you were barking mad and had no idea who I was!"

"Was it just kissing or…?"

"Or. Loads of _or_."

A flush crept into Harry's cheek from his neck. Ron didn't know if it was from embarrassment or arousal.

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly. "I hope you don't think I was taking advantage of you. You were still you and I –"

"Ron, shut up."

Harry's lips, a bit off-centred, crashed into his. All memories of their first kiss faded away. This was better. This meant something because it was really Harry, who knew him and all his faults, parting his lips with an eager tongue. Harry sighed softly when their tongues met and Ron grabbed the back of Harry's neck, his other arm snaking around his waist, and pulled him so tight that they lost their balance and stumbled backwards a few steps.

"Ron…" Harry moaned, the sound vibrating over Ron's lips. Ron shivered.

Panting, Ron whispered, "Maybe we should… talk."

"No talking," Harry replied. Holding Ron's hips, Harry walked backwards until they tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs trying to position themselves vertically on the narrow bed.

"I can make the bed bigger," Harry said.

"No! Remember what happened the last time," Ron said, recalling their last visit to Seamus and Dean's small flat for dinner that had extended to an overnight visit when they were too pissed to travel home. The enlargement charm Harry had put on the sofa had worn off in the middle of the night and Ron had fallen to the floor, waking Harry, who had laughed about it for days after.

Harry chuckled.

"Not funny. That hurt," Ron said.

"Too much talking," Harry mumbled and attached his lips to the side of Ron's neck.

It was different than when they were back in New Hope. Harry was different. His hands, which used to roam over Ron in precise calculated patterns, now groped Ron as if Harry were drowning and clinging to Ron for his life.

There was a spot just behind Harry's ear that Ron knew drove him wild. Smiling devilishly, Ron lowered his lips and licked there gingerly at first, but gained momentum as Harry's grunts and soft moans grew more frequent.

"Fuck…" Harry whispered, bucking his hips in short, but frantic thrusts. Ron shoved a hand under Harry, grabbed his arse though the thin pyjama bottoms, and began rocking against him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Harry's neck, breathing in the smell of vanilla and mint.

"Oh… _Ron_… feels good," Harry said, wrapping his legs around Ron just under his arse and joining in their frenzied rocking, perfectly matching Ron's pace.

Ron knew if they kept this up, it'd all be over in a few short minutes. "Wait…" he said and felt Harry's breath catch and stop. "Clothes – no clothes."

They began removing each other's clothes, knocking arms and jabbing each other with elbows. It was frantic and unpolished, and neither said an intelligent word until they were done and lying next to each other, panting and wiping the sweat from their brows.

"All right?" Ron asked, brushing his fingers against Harry's cheek.

Harry shivered. "Yeah. I can't believe…" He rolled over on his side to face Ron. "I never thought… and I'd wanted this for so long."

"I should've told you as soon as we got back, but Hermione said not to."

"Well, Dr Merrick said that I need to stop letting Hermione make all the difficult decisions in my life. 

"Really? That's brilliant. Maybe I should give therapy a go."

Harry laughed. "It's not bad, actually."

"So you're going to be keep going, then?"

"Yeah. I reckon I need to. I mean you and me… we – and I don't even remember it."

"I could show you in the Pensieve?"

Looking thoughtful, Harry bit his bottom lip. "No. I want to experience it, not see it. It feels _new_ and I like that. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Ron said. It made perfect sense, and Ron looked forward to experiencing it all over again as well. "It feels new for me too."

"But I would like to know what else I did." Ron opened his mouth to suggest waiting until morning, but Harry yawned. "But not tonight. I'm knackered."

"Me too." Ron sat up and reached for the blanket at the end of the bed.

Harry grabbed his forearm, looking scared. "Don't. Stay."

"I'm just grabbing the blanket so we don't freeze our bollocks off."

"I am cold," Harry said, crisscrossing his arms and rubbing them with his hands.

"I'll be right back," Ron said and jumped out of bed. He grabbed his old Cannons t-shirt from the box and handed it to Harry.

"I'm sorry I took it without asking," Harry said as he held it in his hand, his thumb grazing over the material.

"Don't be a git. Put it on." Harry pulled it on. Ron climbed back into bed, smiling broadly. "It looks better on you." He pulled the blanket over them. "Roll over."

Smiling madly, Harry did and snuggled back against Ron, who draped his arm around Harry's chest.

"You'll stay for the whole night?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"Harry," Ron kissed Harry's bare shoulder, "I'm staying with you tonight and tomorrow night until forever. Though…" He squirmed trying to get his arm that was falling asleep into a more comfortable position. "We're going to need to get a bigger bed."

_**TBC**_


	22. Epilogue: A New Ending

**Epilogue: A New Ending**

The crisp winter wind blew Harry's bright orange robes around his legs as he strode towards Ron.

"Show-off," Ron said.

Harry shifted his broom from his right to his left hand. He placed his free hand on Ron's bicep and squeezed. "Who? Me?" he replied, smirking.

"Three minutes and forty-two seconds," Ron said proudly. "It's your first game and you break the league record for catching the Snitch. Yeah - _you_ - show-off."

"Nah." Harry nodded at a team-mate, who patted him on the back on his way to the changing rooms. "I just don't want to be late."

"Late? We've got four bloody hours before –"

Harry leaned in and rested his hand on Ron's lower back. "I think we can find something to do with the spare time," he whispered in Ron's ear.

Ron shivered at both the light breath that grazed his ear and at the suggestion of what was to come.

"Four hours? You've got a lot of faith in my stamina."

A few more Cannons approached Harry, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Harry grinned, looking happier than Ron had seen him – at least while fully clothed – in ages.

"Well, I know how hungry you get right after," Harry said when his Quidditch mates had wandered away. "I reckoned on a long lunch after a few hours of shagging."

"Considerate, you are," Ron said. "Breaking a league record to ensure that my appetite has been satisfied."

Harry waggled his eyebrows. "Both appetites."

"Tease. You still have to –" Ron never finished his sentence. Harry had griped his arm tighter and he swirled through blackness until they landed in their newly refurbished bedroom that was a combination of what had been a few weeks ago their individual bedrooms.

An hour later, they both lay on their sides, facing one another and grinning like idiots. Harry tangled their legs together and took Ron's arm, placing it over his waist. They stayed there silent, except for their heavy breathing; Ron felt beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face.

Past Harry's shoulder, Ron looked at the pictures on the table next to their bed. The picture of Harry and Ron at the Quidditch World Cup sat next to the picture of Harry and Ron from Thanksgiving in America. Many times, Ron had caught Harry staring at the picture and each time Harry would ask to see a scene or two from that period of his life. Little by little Ron had shared his memories, except for the purely intimate times that they'd shared. Harry had insisted that he didn't want to see them having sex or their first kiss.

Ron closed his eyes and a moment later a loud snore startled him. Harry laughed and Ron realized that it had been his own snore that woke him.

"We've got plenty of time," Harry said, "if you want to sleep for a bit."

"No," Ron said, brushing the fringe away from Harry's eyes.

"Hungry?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah."

"Hermione left us stew and fresh bread."

"Awfully sweet girl that Hermione."

"I reckon she felt guilty that she was missing my first game."

Ron rolled his eyes. "But you told her that it was okay. She had to be at the _conference_," Ron made quotation marks with his fingers, "in Venice first thing this morning."

"Do you think she'll move there with Giovanni?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "She's mentioned moving out. I told her she didn't have to."

"She thinks she's going to walk in and catch us shagging in the kitchen."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Can you blame her? She did catch you giving me a blowjob in the sitting room."

"She told us she was working late!"

Harry chuckled and gave Ron a kiss filled with serious intent. "Speaking of moving," he said as he extracted himself from their brand new extra-large bed. "Fancy a shower?"

Feeling a renewed vigour, Ron jumped up and followed Harry into the bathroom.

* * *

"Do you think they're late?" Ron asked, easily looking over the heads of the people in front of them.

"The Arrivals board said their plane –"

"There they are!" Ron interrupted and let go of Harry's had to wave frantically until Jim spotted him and waved back.

"Ronnie!" Shawn called out, waving both his arms in the air. "Harry!"

Ron looked at Harry, who looked nervous, but curious. Ron squeezed Harry's hand gently. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

"Remember Shawn knows that you don't remember, but he's a bit –" Ron didn't have a chance to finish because Shawn had lunged at him, hugging him around his chest.

"Ronnie, I've missed you!"

Ron pulled his arm out from between them and put it around Shawn, patting him on the back. "I missed you too," he answered, honestly.

When Shawn let go, Ron got a good look at the light blue t-shirt he was wearing. It had _'sex kitten'_ written across the chest in silver letters. Harry was looking at it as well and smiling, clearly amused.

"Hi ya, Harry," Shawn said cheerfully. "Jim told me that you don't remember me, but we were _best friends_, I can assure you."

"I thought I was your best friend," Ron said, faking a pout.

"You're my best _best_ friend, Ronnie!"

Jim approached and stood behind Shawn. "Hi, Ron," he said and offered his hand. "It's good to see you," Ron said, taking Jim's hand and shaking it fondly.

"Hi, Jim," Harry said, speaking for the first time. Jim greeted Harry and shook his hand as well.

Ron noted that Harry looked pale. He reached out for him and held his forearm firmly. The weeks after Ron had informed Harry of his relationship with Jim had been rough. Understandably, Harry had felt exposed and violated and it had taken days before he would open up and talk to Ron about it. Ron's memories of their friends from New Hope, all of which he'd accompanied Harry into, had helped immensely. Jim's caring for Harry had been obvious and when Jim had contacted them to tell Ron that they'd found and arrested Jake, Harry had asked to talk to Jim to thank him. They had struck up a conversation and Harry even shared the information about his change in career. He didn't explain Quidditch during that phone call, but when Jim had rung them a few weeks later, Harry had answered and went into great detail about the game.

"We've got a surprise for you, Ronnie!" Shawn said, looking around. "Where's…?"

"Right here," Jim said, rolling his eyes, and holding up a small green crate. "She came back a few days after you left," he explained to Ron.

Ron squinted and looked inside the crate. A ball of orange fur moved. "Ginger!" She lifted her head lazily and looked at him. She appeared dazed and when she opened her mouth only a small mew came out. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing," Jim said, handing the crate to Ron. "We had to drug her for the plane ride. She'll be fine. It's okay, right? That we brought her to you."

"It's more than okay!" Ron said excitedly. "But is it just a visit or can she stay?"

"She's yours," Jim said, smiling. "Michael sold the house and moved to Boston."

Harry leaned down and looked into the crate. "Hello, Ginger."

He stood up and Shawn pointed at Harry's sweatshirt. "The Chudley Cannons – what's that?"

Ron opened his mouth to save Harry, but Harry answered confidently. "Rugby team."

Shawn's eyes-widened. "Rugby? There's a gay rugby league back home. Not my thing – getting dirty and all, but the players are hot!" He said it all very fast, took a breath, and then began talking before anyone else could. "Is that what happened to your memory? You got tackled too hard or something and hit your head."

Harry laughed, but Jim looked horrified. "Shawn," he hissed. "You promised not to –"

"It's okay," Harry said, grabbing the handle of a pink suitcase that Ron assumed was Shawn's. "Might as well get it out of the way now."

"Good ol' sensible, Harry," Shawn said and linked his arm with Harry. Ron watched for signs that it was too much for Harry, but Harry was smiling and seemed to be growing more comfortable. "Don't get jealous," Shawn said to Jim and stood on tip-toes to kiss him, much to Ron's surprise, right on the lips.

Shawn twirled Harry around, took a smaller suitcase that matched the one in Harry's hand, and they began to walk through the terminal towards the outside doors, the pink suitcases trailing behind them.

"You sneak," Ron said, elbowing Jim in the arm. "You and Shawn?"

A blush broke out on Jim's cheeks. "Yeah."

"When did that happen?"

"Right after you left. I… I thought about some things and what you said at Shawn's house about anyone would be lucky to have him. I was… well, he's over-the-top as you know and I worried about what other people would…"

"S'kay. I get it." Ron smiled "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah." Jim reached for his bag at the same time as Ron, but he waved Ron off and threw it over his shoulder. "Looks like you and Harry are getting along okay too."

"Brilliant, actually." Ron saw Shawn and Harry standing by the door. Shawn's hands gestured wildly along with the story he was telling. Harry was nodding for Shawn and smiling at Ron as he approached. "You didn't tell Shawn about the magic stuff – did you?"

Jim shook his head. "Never. I love him, but –"

"You _love_ him?" Ron said, dragging out the word love and batting his eyelashes.

The blush still lingering on Jim's cheeks darkened. He tried to keep his face stern, but it was hard to hide the smile that was trying to creep through. "Shut up. As I was saying, Shawn's got a big mouth. He can't keep a secret to save his life."

"Come on," Shawn yelled out anxiously and as soon as Ron and Jim were close, he grabbed both their wrists and yanked them forward. "Where are we going first? They've rented hotel rooms in Central London for us to stay at and Harry said we can take the Tube there. The Tube – isn't that cool, Jim? I want to see everything we only have a few days and –"

"Take a deep breath, Shawn," Jim said. Shawn beamed at Jim as he inhaled and exhaled loudly. Ron thought their differences would be good for the other.

"Neither of you have ever been to London?" Harry asked.

"Nope," they said together.

"We've got a lot to show you then," Harry said and reached for Ron's hand.

They made their way through the crowd. Shawn kept stopping to take pictures and Jim had to drag him by the arm several times to keep him moving. Harry led them into the crowded Tube station and handed them all tickets he had brought days ago. They chatted and joked as they waited for their train. Ron watched Harry sneak looks at Jim and by the time they entered the train, he was relieved when Harry and him were separated from Jim and Shawn in the crowd of people.

Harry looked at Jim past Ron's shoulder and then at Ron. He smiled up at Ron, and Ron smiled back despite the jealously flaring up inside of him.

"I don't know what I saw in him," Harry said. "You're much better looking."

"Nah. Really?" Ron turned to look at Jim and caught Jim and Shawn exchanging a chaste kiss. "He's a fit bloke."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, but he's got nothing on you." He slid his hand up the silver pole and covered Ron's that was holding on to it. "I thought maybe when I saw him…" He shook his head and got that faraway look in his eyes.

"You thought you'd remember?"

Harry nodded.

"You haven't remembered anything else. Or have you?"

"No, not exactly."

"What does _'not exactly'_ mean?"

"I don't remember here," Harry said, pointing to his head. Then he pointed to his heart. "But I remember it here."

"Uh?"

"It's why I don't want to see some of your memories. Like our first kiss. You told me about it and when I think about it and try to envision it, I feel…" Ron put his hand against Harry's chest. "Yeah, right there. I remember right there."

_**The End**_


End file.
